Lost
by Veralidaine
Summary: Hermione's seventh year--dementors, Voldemort, Ron, Professor Lupin (could I resist? Heavens, no! ^_^), and a Christmas Dance. Lots of fluffy, mushy stuff. What more could you ask for? (Probably a lot...) Part 15 just posted...
1. Pongor Incantatem

****

Lost

By Veralidaine

### Chapter 1

Auriela Corrin strolled down the sidewalk of Rhododendron Avenue, taking in the sweet, warm summer air. Crickets chirruped in the grass, the skies were clear enough to make out every single star, and the breeze played gently about her long, straight, blonde hair. About fifteen minutes earlier, her best friend from primary school, Hermione Granger, had just given her a call to come over for a visit. Apparently, she'd just gotten home from vacation in Spain with her parents. 

Auriela hadn't seen Hermione since the previous autumn, when she had left for her sixth year at some school in the North—Auriela didn't know what the school was called, or precisely where it was, but Hermione seemed content, so it must have been a good one. As it was, Auriela was keen to see her bushy-haired, brown-eyed friend again. It had been so long...A small part of her mind registered the faint scent of smoke as she turned onto Hermione's block.

She stopped short, all thought wiped from her brain so fast it hurt. Well, it would have, if she hadn't gone numb at the sight before her eyes.

What had been the Grangers' pretty white suburban house was now nothing but smoking framework. All of the grass near to the house had been burned away; a few flames still licked what had been rosebushes lining the path to the door. But that wasn't the worst of it-lying along the garden path were two bodies, both burned black, that looked sickeningly like Mr. and Mrs. Granger. 

Frantic, and numbly wondering what on earth could have done this awful thing, Auriela ran around the blackened remains of the house, trying to find Hermione, but almost hoping she didn't. How could a fire have burned the house down in less than fifteen minutes? Hermione had been perfectly calm and content when she'd called Auriela, and now...

The girl abruptly stopped. Hermione was lying on her back, burned and bleeding, but mumbling something. Auriela vaguely noticed that tears were sliding down her own cheeks, and that the frantically pleading voice was issuing from her own throat. "Hermione! Oh, Hermione, what's happened?"

She leaned down next to the other girl, noticing a long, deep gash across her right cheek. Hermione was still murmuring something in a monotonous voice, eyes clenched shut. Auriela leaned in closer. "..._Pongor Incantatem_..._Pongor Incantatem_..."

"What?" Auriela asked wildly. Then it hit her—she was in shock. Hermione had lost it.

Suddenly, Hermione stopped mumbling to herself and slowly opened her eyes. Upon seeing Auriela, the large brown eyes got rounder. "Oh! Auriela, what do you think you're doing? Get away! They'll come back once he finds out that I'm still alive! Run!"

"Hermione, what—?"

"_Go!_"

"Shhh..." Auriela wasn't sure what to do. She hadn't ever dealt with an insane person before. And what was Hermione talking about, anyway? She acted like someone (or maybe even a group of people) had done this purposely to her house...

"Auriela!"

"I'm not leaving! We have to get you to a doctor..."

Hermione sighed impatiently, seeming to calm down a bit. But only a bit. "I suppose...Wh-what of Mum and Dad?"

Auriela bit her lip, and Hermione closed her eyes, an intense look of pain coming over her face. The sound of sirens filled the air as the police and fire station arrived on the scene. Auriela looked up as a tall, balding, redheaded man walked up to her. He seemed to recognize Hermione, as he gave a quiet gasp when he saw her. He glanced at Auriela, a worried expression on his face. "Did you see what happened?"

"No, but she was mumbling something when I got here, and told me to leave before someone-or-other found out she was alive and came back...I don't know. She was rambling..."

"Mmm-hmm..." He was fiddling with something in his pocket. He pulled out a nine-inch-long polished stick and looked at her. "D'you know what she was muttering?"

"Emm..." Auriela racked her brains, trying to remember as she watched several more men dressed much like the red-headed man put Hermione on a stretcher and float (_FLOAT?!?_) her away. They'd come up with that stretcher awfully fast...And maybe it was just too dark, but Auriela didn't see any wheels...

"D'you know what it sounded like, at all?" the man pressed.

"Like, 'Pongy Incantation' or something. I don't really know; I was too worried about that horrid gash on her face..."

"Right," the man muttered. "Well, Miss, is that all?"

"I think so..."

He waved the wand, muttering under his breath, and Auriela blacked out.

***

Ron yawned loudly and stretched out, glancing at the clock on his bedside cabinet. The single hand was pointed between _You Should Still Be Asleep _and _Nope—Still Too Early_. He agreed, rubbing his eyes and yawning. Why had he woken up? It couldn't be any later than five or six o'clock...Then he heard voices downstairs in the kitchen. What was going on? It was too early for all this action...

Resigned to both curiosity and the fact that he was now fully awake, he swung his long legs over the side of the bed and padded over to the door. Opening it as silently as he possibly could, he stuck his head out. Yep, there were definitely voices. That sounded like his Dad...What could possibly have happened? 

"...Hermione, dear, why don't you have a seat. You're not well at all."

That was his Mum...Hermione?! Why was Hermione here? And what did she mean, "not well at all?" Ron quietly made his way down the stairs, avoiding the step at the bottom that always squeaked, and turned off into the kitchen. His Dad was leaning against the counter, looking tired and worried, while his Mum was sitting, in her dressing gown, across from—

"Hermione!"

She looked up and Ron gasped. There was a long, deep cut across her cheek, and her face was red from crying. She was wearing simple white robes—from a hospital, he assumed—and her hair was disheveled. There were slight burn marks on her arms, like Charlie's, and the moment she saw him, she burst into tears and ran to him. 

Ron caught her in his arms; hers went around his neck; and she sobbed unrestrainedly into his shoulder. He looked over her hair at his father, who shook his head sadly. Still confused, Ron turned his attention back to the girl in his arms. "'Mione, it's okay. Shhhh..." 

Usually, Ron never displayed emotion. Yes, he and Hermione were, as Lavender put it, "a couple." Both Ron and Hermione knew, though, that it was really much deeper than that. Though Ron could be quite relaxed when he and Hermione were alone, in public he was still a little too easily embarrassed to hold hands or anything. Well, that and the matter of Harry, who seemed to find great amusement in teasing him about it. Now, however, no thought of the embarrassment he might face later even crossed his mind as he put his arms around the frightened girl he had come to care so much about in the past six years.

She pulled away, still looking anguished, and he brushed her hair carefully out of her tear-streaked face. She shook her head wildly, biting her lip to keep from crying. "No, no it's not, Ron...It won't ever be okay again..." She broke down crying again and he pulled her close to him again, laying his head on hers and ignoring the hot tears soaking his pajama top. 

He lifted his head from hers and looked at his Mum. "Is she going to stay in Perce's old room?" She nodded. "Well, then. I'll just take her up to bed, shall I?"

His Mum nodded somewhat numbly, still looking very concerned for Hermione. His Dad, however, caught his shoulder. "Ron, don't you go pestering her about what's happened. I'll discuss it with you later."

Ron nodded. "Right. C'mon, Hermione."

Hermione allowed herself to be led to the top of the stairs, but broke down in the hallway and sank to her knees, crying. Ron sank down next to her and brushed her hair out of her face, careful not to touch the large gash on her cheek. "Hermione, I—"

"R-Ron, I c-can't stay here! I can't! He-he'll come after me, and if he f-finds you, he'll—" She broke off, shoulders shaking, her hands hiding her face.

"Hermione, I don't know—"

"Voldemort, Ron!" She had taken her hands down and was now almost glaring at him. "This mob of Death Eaters came to my house, a-and—"

Realization dawned on Ron with the force of a rampaging hippogriff. "Oh, 'Mione, I'm sorry..."

She leaned over and buried her face in his shoulder again. He slid an arm around her shoulders and one below her knees and picked her up. 

Carrying her down the hallway, Ron noticed that Ginny's door was open, and she was peeking out, looking scared. "Ron, what—?"

He shook his head violently to shut her up and kicked open the door to Percy's old room. He laid Hermione on the bed and pulled the blankets up over her shoulders. "Shhh...You need to sleep."

"No..." She shook her head, silent tears streaming down her face, and gave a rather feeble attempt at sitting up. He pushed her back down gently, and she didn't object but to cry harder. "Ron, I can't stay here..."

"Of course you can." He leaned over and kissed her forehead. "Get some rest." He stood up and walked towards the door.

"Ron?"

He turned around to face her, one hand on the doorframe. "Yes?"

"Please don't leave."

He walked quietly back over and sat down on the bed next to her. "You're safe here; it's okay now." Well. There was an exaggeration. _Her parents are dead, you twit! Of COURSE it's not okay!_ he thought bitterly.

"I know. But...could you at least wait until I'm asleep?" 

She looked so scared...What, was he supposed to refuse? "Of course. Now try to get some rest. Seriously, Hermione, you've gotta get some sleep."

Her lips turned up in a half-hearted smile. "Since when have you become so caring?"

Ron smiled gently. "It's all your fault. I feel like I have this obligation to let you know how I feel about you. Or make you miserable. Either one."

"You've not made me miserable in ages. And apparently, I'm the only one who knows you're capable of being this sweet."

"Well, yes, and let's keep it that way." He muttered jokingly, brushing her hair out of her face for what must have been the seventeenth time that evening. "Seriously, though, I'm not that sweet to just anybody, you know."

"I know," she whispered. "I'll take it as a compliment." She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. 

"You really ought to be less of a tough-guy. I know you're really a marshmallow."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah..." At least he'd taken her mind off of her parents, if only for a little while.

She snuggled down under the covers, sighing raggedly. "Just until I'm asleep, Ron. You don't have to stay longer than that."

"No," he murmured, leaning back next to her, "but I will."

****


	2. The Burrow

Disclaimer: If it's any good, it's not mine.  
  
Lost - part 2  
by Veralidaine  
  
"The Burrow"  
  
  
  
Hermione woke up to sunlight streaming in from the windows, and her head resting on Ron's chest.   
Remembering the previous day's events, she held back the tears that stung her eyes. She was content just  
to listen to Ron's heartbeat forever and never get up and face the world again. But the time would come,  
as it always did.  
  
She started as his arms left her shoulders to stretch out. She sat up slowly, looking down at him. He   
grinned lopsidedly up at her. "'Morning." She offered a half-smile, and he seemed to remember why he was   
there, as he stopped grinning abruptly. "D'you feel any better at all? I mean, I know you won't ever...  
But..." He shook his head. "Sorry."  
  
She shrugged, frowning. "Don't worry about it. I feel awful, but that's to be expected, I guess."  
  
He sat up next to her. "You want to get some breakfast?"  
  
"Not really. Truthfully, I'd love to just stay in bed, asleep, forever."  
  
That seemed to scare him. "Don't think like that...Come on. Mum makes really good chocolate chip   
pancakes." He stood and pulled her up next to him.  
  
"Thank you for staying last night," she muttered, looking at her feet.  
  
He wrapped her in a tight hug, burying his face in her hair. "I'm here for you, okay?" he murmured into   
her ear. "No matter what."  
  
"Thank you."  
  
He held her for a minute longer, then let go, seemingly embarrassed by this show of affection. "Well,   
uhm...Let's go get some breakfast, shall we?"  
  
She grabbed his hand and let him lead her down to breakfast. In the kitchen, Mrs. Weasley was stirring   
pancake batter in a large bowl, while Ginny stared at the centerpiece. Hermione assumed that she'd   
recently been told. The younger girl's eyes met hers, and Hermione knew she was silently apologizing,   
but Ginny didn't say anything aloud. And Hermione was glad. She was on the verge of tears as it was.  
  
Still disheveled from sleep, she slumped down on one side of the table, hugging the old, tattered blue   
bathrobe Mrs. Weasley had loaned her tighter around her shoulders. It wasn't as though she was cold--  
well, not physically--but more that she needed some kind of reassurance. Ron, seated next to her, kept   
shooting worried glances at her when he thought she wasn't looking. She sighed. What was she going to   
do?  
  
Breakfast was almost a silent meal, except for the occasional "pass the syrup, please." Mr. and Mrs.   
Weasley were quite tired-looking, and Hermione felt guilty for being such a burden on them. As if they   
didn't have enough children to worry for and take care of...She was an imposition on them. And she was   
putting them in danger. She cleared her throat and everyone looked up abruptly. Ignoring the   
uncomfortable looks on their faces, she sighed. "I can't stay here," she managed; her voice hurt from   
crying.  
  
"Oh, dear, of course you can stay..." Mrs. Weasley was adamant. "I wouldn't dream of having you stay   
anywhere else."  
  
"Yes, quite," Mr. Weasley agreed. "You're staying here. At least until we find out who your parents   
appointed to be your godparents. Then you can choose."  
  
Hermione nodded. "That's very nice of you, but--"  
  
"Don't worry yourself, dear," Molly said kindly. "You're not any trouble at all, and we want you to stay  
with us. I daresay Ron will worry himself sick if you leave now."  
  
Ron, who usually would blush at an awkward statement like that, did no such thing. He gave her a   
pleading look and she nodded, resigned. "Will you at least let me help you around the house? I can't   
just sit around forever while you all work to care for me..."  
  
Ron opened his mouth to argue, but Ginny shot him a glare and said, "Of course, Hermione. When you're   
through eating, d'you want to come help me feed the chickens?"  
  
Hermione nodded mutely, taking Ron's hand under the table and giving it a reassuring squeeze. He sighed   
loudly but nodded. "Right. Well, I've got to owl Harry."  
  
Hermione sighed. "Yes. I suppose. Please tell him not to worry over me. I've got enough people worried.   
He's got enough to worry about. I don't need to add another weight to his load."  
  
Ron gave her a look that she'd not ever seen before on his face--was it pity? She wasn't sure--and   
headed up to his room.  
  
  
"Right," Ginny said, in an attempt to be cheery. "This speckled one here's named Spots."  
  
"How very creative," Hermione muttered, fighting down a smile. She wouldn't ever smile, not after what   
had happened to her parents.   
  
"Hey, it was Percy's idea," Ginny said, offering a quiet smile. "Now, this one here, the black one, is   
Mister Filibuster, Junior. That one was George's idea. Oh, and the white one, that's Mozzarella. Fred's   
idea. I dunno. Just don't ask. That one there is..."  
  
Hermione scattered chicken feed, letting Ginny's sweet little voice sort of wash over her ears. Hermione  
knew that Ginny wasn't all that fascinated with chickens, and was only doing this to prevent the   
situation from becoming awkward. Sighing, she watched as a yellow one named Eckeltricity pushed all of   
the others out of her way and gobbled up most of the feed. While Ginny scolded the chicken, Hermione   
dipped her hand in the bowl of corn and scattered another handful of feed out for the others, watching   
them peck it all up quickly to avoid losing it to the large yellow hen.   
  
  
  
The days dragged by. One morning, Hermione climbed down the rickety staircase and found everyone huddled  
around a letter, while Mrs. Weasley tried to keep it out of everyone's reach. As Ron was much taller, it   
was useless.  
  
"What's going on?" Hermione said softly, and the squabbling ceased the moment her voice was heard.   
  
"Well, dear, this letter came for me--by Muggle post, oddly enough--and I think you ought to read it."   
Mrs. Weasley handed her the letter, and Hermione took it, curious:  
  
  
  
Dear Mr. and Mrs. Weasley,  
  
I would like to personally thank you for taking such good care of my niece, Hermione. When I found out   
her parents had died, I was most distraught. My brother was a good man, and a wonderful father, I'm   
sure.   
  
The late Grangers have named no one as Hermione's legal guardians. I, however, would be glad to take   
Hermione in. I understand her current situation, can offer help with dealing with her parents' death,   
and I can offer a good home and proper care.  
  
Even though I can offer a good home and a good female role model, I will understand perfectly if   
Hermione wishes to stay with your family. Please send your answer back as soon as possible.  
  
  
Sincerely,  
  
Margaret Granger  
  
  
  
Hermione folded the letter up, her insides writhing nervously. She'd only met Margaret once or twice,   
since, after her grandparents had died, she was the oldest person in the family. If her calculations   
were correct--and they usually were--Margaret was about sixty-three years old. That meant that she was   
probably retired. It made her very nervous, to say the least. How could she choose to live with someone   
she'd only met twice? But then, could she really stay as a burden on the Weasleys? She looked quickly up  
at them all. "I..."  
  
She stopped at the look on Ron's face. He'd not taken his eyes off of her since she'd taken the letter  
from his mother, and now he looked somewhat like he was expecting her to drop dead any second. He was  
obviously still worried sick about her. While this sort of thing would normally get on her nerves, she   
was somewhat touched by it now.  
  
Ginny also seemed a bit worried. She kept glancing from Ron to Hermione nervously, almost like she used   
to when they would fight. Apparently (and it warmed Hermione's heart even to GUESS this...) Ginny had   
liked having another girl around the house, depressed and parentless or not.  
  
Hermione sighed. "I'm going to have to think about this. I've never met Aunt Margaret but a few times,   
and she's really old...I dunno if she could handle having a kid, even if I WAS gone for half the year...  
She's also a Muggle." Hermione sighed loudly. "But then, I can't stay here--" she ignored the various  
loud arguments issuing from every other person in the room "--with you; I can't just expect you all to  
care for me like this." She shook her head. "I'm not sure what I'm going to do..."  
  
"Well, dear," Mrs. Weasley sounded a tad teary. "It's your choice. Take as long as you need to think it  
over."  
  
Hermione nodded. "Thanks, I think I'll...go sit outside for awhile and think, okay?"  
  
Everyone nodded silently and dispersed to whatever activities they were working on. Hermione watched   
until Ron left the room, glancing at her worriedly, before she went outside, walked across the lawn,  
scattering chickens, and entered the small patch of woods in back of their house. Granted, it wasn't   
even CLOSE to the size or density of the Forbidden Forest, but then, what was?   
  
She breathed in deeply and sat down on a fallen tree, resting her elbows on her knees and her chin in   
her hands. Before she'd even had time to register why, tears were coursing down her cheeks and she was  
sobbing quietly. Normally, the cool shade and sound of birds would calm her, but for now the emotion was  
too much. Where was she going to go? She didn't want to stay with Margaret...She didn't know her. Even  
though the practical side of her was telling her that maybe Margaret was nice, and that maybe it would   
be good for her to live there, the other part of her mind was wishing that letter hadn't ever arrived.  
  
She knew she couldn't stay with the Weasleys forever, but she didn't want to think about what would   
happen when she DID leave. Or where she would go...She really needed people who understood her right   
now. People who knew her; cared for her. And the Weasleys were a better choice than her own Aunt. But  
still...She couldn't stay with them forever...They couldn't afford it. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley would NEVER  
tell her no if she asked to stay, she knew that. They were too proud. But she would be a problem for   
them, and that was the last thing she wanted to do to these people who had always been so nice to her.  
  
But then, that wasn't all. She was still having nightmares, even during the day, about that night last  
week. Everything had been so perfect, only to be ripped to shreds, sending her here. She shuddered   
violently, thinking about it, and kicked herself for not being able to protect her parents from what she  
herself had brought upon them...  
  
She jumped about three feet in the air as a twig broke behind her. With some difficulty, she quieted her  
sobs and turned around. Ron was standing, frozen, probably in the position he'd been in when he'd   
stepped on that twig and startled her. He dropped all caution and walked over to her as she turned back  
around again, hastily wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. "H-hi, Ron, I was just--"  
  
"Don't," he muttered, sitting down next to her.  
  
She nodded. He knew her too well to be fooled. Mind, it was pretty obvious, as she had red puffy eyes   
and her face was still soaked from her tears. She noticed him looking at her expectantly. It annoyed her  
greatly, but she knew he was right as her eyes started stinging again. In a rather feeble attempt to   
hide the tears, she brought a hand up to her eyes, but he just leaned over and pulled her into his arms.  
Appreciatively, she put her arms around his neck and allowed herself to sob again. It was so much better  
to be held while she cried than to sit by herself.  
  
"Well," he murmured in her ear, "d'you want to tell me about it?"  
  
She tightened her arms around his neck and sobbed a bit harder. "I--d-don't--know--" she managed, in  
between the sobs racking her lungs.  
  
"You don't have to," he said. "I'll drop it, if you like. Mum always says it helps, though." He let out  
a sort of sad, quiet laugh. "Mind, she also said I'm not supposed to be out here now. She wanted me to   
leave you alone for a bit to work out your feelings."  
  
"I hate working out my feelings," she muttered. She was too tired to sob anymore.  
  
"Well that's what I figured," Ron said, stroking her hair.   
  
She sighed raggedly. "Ron, the other night, I called my friend Auriela over to the house. Mum and Dad--"  
her voice caught in her throat and she swallowed roughly "--Mum and Dad and I had just gotten back from  
Spain. I wanted to say hi to Auriela before school started. So, anyway...I hung up the phone, and all of  
a sudden, from the next room, I heard Mum scream. Dad started yelling for me to run, but I was worried   
and scared. I thought it was a burglar or murderer or something, and I didn't want to leave them--what  
if they got hurt? So I ran into the next room only to find--Death Eaters--pushing something heavy out   
the front door.   
  
"I got sick to my stomach then. I obviously could guess what it was they were getting rid of. So I ran  
out the back door. But they'd seen me, of course. A few of them came after me, and I got hit by some   
sort of burning spell. Then, the one that came after me, he took this dagger out of his robes. I don't   
know why in the world he needed it; after all, he could have just used..." she paused, wiping her tears  
on Ron's sweater as he tightened his arms around her.   
  
"He could have killed me much easier," she muttered. "But instead he cut my cheek open." She shuddered,  
feeling the gash along her cheek. Though Mrs. Weasley had managed to heal it, she'd always have a scar  
there, she knew. "I don't know why. And I'm not sure, but I think he had a silver hand." She felt Ron  
tense. "Anyway," she continued in a hoarse whisper, "I just muttered the only spell I could think of,   
and he just backed away. After a few moments, I heard Auriela coming. And then I sort of blacked out."  
  
"What spell was it?" Ron asked quietly.  
  
"I learned it from...Well, a gypsy girl. Don't ask; it's a long story. Anyway, she said it was a sort of  
protection spell. She also said it was extremely difficult to do, but I guess when you're that scared   
you can do all sorts of things. I still don't understand why I'm alive, though. Nothing can block the  
Unforgiveables. Anyway, the spell's called Pongor Incantatem."  
  
He sighed. "Never heard of it, of course."  
  
"Well, if you'd read Hogwarts--" she stopped, as he said, "Hogwarts, A History," along with her. She  
couldn't help herself and giggled a bit, before mentally kicking herself for it. What was she doing,   
laughing about something like this? Ugh...How horrid...  
  
After about five minutes of silence, save for the leaves blowing in the breeze and the occasional bird  
chirp, Ron muttered, "Have you decided what you're going to do yet?"  
  
She sighed again, fighting back the tears that were threatening to make yet another appearance. "No."  
How was she supposed to talk with him about this? He would tell her, no matter what, that she could--and  
should, for that matter--stay with his family. And God knows she wanted to...  
  
"Well," he muttered, "don't worry about it. You've got time to figure it all out. D'you want to go in   
for lunch now?"  
  
She nodded, pulling away and wiping her eyes again. Ron stood up and offered her a hand. She took it,   
allowing him to pull her up next to him, and they walked back to the house. 


	3. Worries

Disclaimer: Is this ABSOLUTELY necessary by now? I mean, do you REALLY think I own ANY of this? Tuh...  
  
A/N: Wow! I've gotten tons of really good reviews! For THIS drivel! D'you lot have any idea how terribly  
appreciative I am?  
  
Okay, and for Azrael Prysteria and Ebony Foxfire's benefit, so I don't hear about this on Monday when I  
get back to school (yep, I'm home again, due to a really, really, really, really sore throat...), Ron   
did not DO anything with Hermione at the end of chapter one, okay? He wasn't even under the covers! And  
Azrael, if you're reading this, I don't wanna hear about how you interpreted that last remark.  
  
Okay, I'm done ranting--well, almost. The title is now "Lost" because I got tired of typing the original  
title. From now on look for that, okay? Okay. I'm a bit hyper right about now, so excuse me. My mind's  
going through some major...uh...weirdness right now. Hopefully it'll help me write.  
  
The wonders of sudafed and about a bazillion other decongestiants...I never cease to be amazed...  
  
The Effects of Cold Medication on Writers' Block (A.K.A. Lost)  
Part 3  
by Veralidaine  
  
Lost   
  
By the shadows of the night I go   
I moved away from the crowded room   
That sea of shallow faces masked in warm regret   
They don't know how to feel, they don't know what is lost  
  
Lost in the darkness of a land   
Where all the hope that's offered is   
Memories of being taken by the hand   
And we are led into the sun   
But I don't have a hold on what is real   
Though we can only try   
What is there to give or to believe   
  
I want it all to go away   
I want to be alone   
Sympathy's wasted on my hollow shell   
I feel there's nothing left to fight for   
No reason for a cause   
And I can't hear your voice and I can't feel you near  
  
Lost in the darkness of a land   
Where all the hope that's offered is   
Memories of being taken by the hand   
And we are led into the sun   
But I don't have a hold on what is real   
Though we can only try   
What is there to give or to believe   
  
I wanted a change knowing all I could do was try   
I was looking for someone...   
  
--"Lost," by Sarah McLachlan, from the album "Solace," which has got to be one of her best ones. I just  
had to put that song in here somewhere. ^_^ Okay, on to the fic:  
  
  
  
Harry sat up in bed, thoroughly exhausted, and looked at the luminous alarm clock. 6:42 AM. Well. That  
explained the exhaustion. So why, exactly, was he awake?  
  
Tap, tap, tap.  
  
Oh.  
  
An owl.  
  
He sat up, rubbing his eyes, and put on his glasses, not bothering to straighten them. There was a large  
brown owl flapping about outside in the pouring rain, and beside it, getting blown about in the stormy  
winds, was Pigwidgeon. Harry rushed to the window and opened it quietly, so as to keep the Dursleys from  
waking.  
  
For once, Pig was a bit too tired to hoot and flap in circles, much to the delight of Hedwig, who had  
decided to stay inside for the evening, as it was so very unpleasant outside. Pig just flumped down on  
Harry's bed, panting, and reminding Harry forcefully of Errol. Meanwhile, the large brown owl, which  
looked as though it was from somewhere important, was preening its feathers in a rather haughty manner,  
and merely paused to dropped the letter from its claws before returning to its work.  
  
Anxious to hear from Ron, Harry opened the wet parchment and saw the usual messy scrawl of his best   
friend, only this time it was a bit smeared from the rain.  
  
  
Harry,  
  
Sorry I didn't waterproof it, but I've not got the time. Maybe you've not heard about it, since you   
don't get the Prophet, but Hermione's an orphan now. Her Mum and Dad were killed last week by a bunch  
of Death Eaters, including that...Wormtail. So she's with us, but she doesn't talk much and won't eat  
anything. Her Aunt sent a letter saying she could live with her, but I don't think 'Mione wants to. She  
says she can't stay with us, though. You know how she is.  
  
Anyway, I was wondering if you could come visit sometime, and talk to her, since you can sort of--you  
know--identify. She needs it. I'm really worried about her...  
  
Heard from Snuffles lately?   
  
~ Ron  
  
  
Harry paused, staring at the letter again without reading it. Hermione's parents? He, for one, knew what  
it was like to not have parents. But then, he'd never really had them to start with but for a year, and   
that wasn't enough to really remember it. Hermione'd had nearly seventeen years to make memories.  
  
Still not quite registering this new predicament, he turned his attention to the more official looking  
letter. It was on thick, yellowing parchment, much like he usually got from Hogwarts, but it was stamped  
with a different seal, this one with a large star on it, surrounded by the words, "Ministry of Magic   
Judicial System--Dept. of Mysteries." Thoroughly curious, Harry opened it and read:  
  
  
Mr. Harry Potter,  
  
This letter is to inform you that the supposedly dead Peter Pettigrew has recently turned himself in to  
the Ministry of Magic, clearing your legal guardian, Sirius Black, of all suspicion of murder. You are  
asked to please report to ministry offices by this coming Monday, August 30, in order to sign the   
release papers for Black, and to organize who you have chosen as your official guardians.  
  
Sincerely,  
  
Bode and Croaker  
Dept. of Mysteries  
  
  
Harry stopped, blinked, and read the letter through once more. Then he blinked again. And then he broke  
into a grin. "YES!" he whispered.  
  
Well, that explained it, didn't it, that he'd not heard about it? If the Department of Mysteries was  
working on it, and that made sense, as they obviously didn't want the press in on it, then even Mr.  
Weasley wasn't allowed to hear about it. But Harry didn't really care about minor details like that--  
Sirius was cleared! He could go live with him!  
  
But then, why in the world had Wormtail decided to turn himself in?  
  
***  
  
For some reason, the thought of self-mutilation, suicide, or, in fact, anything remotely violent never  
crossed Hermione's mind over the next few weeks. The one way she could escape her feelings was to sleep  
--even reading didn't work anymore. She'd remember how her Dad used to have her sit her little seven-  
year-old self on his lap while they read "A Wrinkle in Time," or some other science fiction book. She'd  
loved it, then, even though she didn't always understand what the story was about. She supposed that it  
contributed to her love of reading. And that much was enough to make her never want to read again,   
knowing she'd always grow teary-eyed thinking about it.  
  
So she slept. And slept, and slept, and slept. She'd get up for lunch, but wouldn't eat much of anything  
as it made her feel sick to her stomach to. She'd eat something small, not speak much, and go back to  
bed, claiming to feel sick again, which was true. Then she'd get up later in the afternoon and help with  
the chores: feeding the chickens, de-gnoming the garden, and anything else she could think of. She'd   
work furiously, concentrating on every single detail and trying to make it perfect. She couldn't explain  
why she obsessed, but at least it took her mind off of her parents, if only temporarily.  
  
And the days dragged on in that same fashion, Ron growing more worried and Hermione growing more tired  
each day. Finally, he came into Percy's room, where she was staying, and confronted her.  
  
"Hermione, you can't just go on like this."  
  
In response, she pulled the covers up over her head. "Watch me," she muttered, closing her eyes tiredly.  
She jumped a bit as the covers were pulled down roughly, revealing Ron's angry, concerned face. She   
scowled. "Ron, just leave me be, okay?"  
  
"No, I won't!" he said, keeping a firm hold on the quilt, which she was trying to wrench free of his   
grip. "You can't just stay in bed forever and not eat anything! It's not healthy!"  
  
"I don't care," Hermione muttered angrily, turning over on her stomach and covering her head with one of  
the huge feather pillows. "Go away," she mumbled.  
  
"No."  
  
She sighed. WHY was he so stubborn? WHY? "Ron, just--"  
  
"No, Hermione, I'm not going to let you do this to yourself! Now get up!"  
  
Thoroughly annoyed, she sat up, throwing the pillow to the floor like a small child having a tantrum.   
"No! Why don't you MIND your own BUSINESS and LEAVE ME ALONE! You have NO idea what this is like, okay?"  
  
She instantly regretted her little outburst. Ron looked as though he'd just been slapped. He stood up   
and walked towards the door, not saying anything. He shut the door behind him and Hermione crumbled,   
sobbing violently into her pillows. Eventually, she fell into blissful, dreamless sleep again, and was  
liberated from her worries temporarily.  
  
***  
  
He wasn't going to cry. There was NO WAY he was going to cry. Nope. Ron Weasley did NOT cry. It wasn't  
a statement--it was a law of nature. He didn't cry. And he hadn't since he'd been a toddler. He didn't  
cry when Ginny got taken into the Chamber of Secrets. He didn't cry when Hermione had been turned into  
stone. He didn't cry when Harry had gone missing during the third task of the Triwizard Tournament. So  
why were his eyes stinging now?  
  
Because it hurt.  
  
More than anything else, it hurt. She'd said it just to hurt him, and it had worked. Well, fine. He'd  
leave her alone. He'd mind his own business. That was just fine for him. He wondered how she'd changed  
so drastically over the past few days. Last time he checked, she was still a scared little girl, not  
sure what she was going to do with her life now that this had happened. And all of a sudden, she just  
wouldn't get out of bed and face the world anymore. And when she did, she was almost violent about it.  
She cleaned and cleaned and cleaned. And slept and slept and slept. That was her life, right there. And  
all he'd done was try to help.  
  
He tried reminding himself that she was very depressed and had recently had a horrible experience, but  
there was another part of him that wouldn't ever be healed after what she'd said. Sometimes, you can't  
take back what you say, and this was the case for Hermione.   
  
"Fine," he muttered hoarsely, sitting in his room, glaring at the Chudley Cannons. "Fine. I'll leave her  
alone. If that's what she wants, then fine." He wiped his eyes, furious with himself.  
  
  
  
A/N: Man, Hermione was mean, wasn't she? It's the Sudafed's fault, not mine. I swear. The Sudafed's a  
better Romance writer than I am, isn't it? Or maybe (hopefully) it's a joint effort. Okay, since I'm on  
a roll, I'm going to go do the dishes like my Mum asked me to, then I'm going to write the next part and  
post it! Lucky you! (yeah, right...) Just gimme time to gather my thoughts, 'kay? Kay. I'll stop my   
mindless babbling now.  
  
~ Veralidaine 


	4. Kiss and Make Up

Disclaimer: If it's any good, it's not mine.  
  
Lost - part 4  
by Veralidaine  
  
  
  
Hermione sat up in bed, feeling very groggy and very miserable. For a second, she wondered why, then her   
memory kicked in, and she bit back tears. Why did she have to be so horrible to him? He'd only been   
trying to help...  
  
She bunched the covers up around her shoulders and sat there, staring at the pillows, for a good five  
minutes. The house was full of noise, which was perhaps why she'd woken. After all, it was three o'clock  
in the afternoon, and she was usually awake by then, but today she'd managed to hurt the one person in  
the world who she shouldn't have, and ended up crying herself to sleep. Again.  
  
She heard laughter from downstairs, and lots of voices talking. Curious, she stepped out of bed, feeling  
very cold, like one always does when one first wakes up, and wrapped a blanket around her shoulders.   
Very quietly, she opened the door to the hallway and shuffled to the stairs to take a peek into the   
living room.  
  
There was Sirius! And Harry! And Ron, who was sitting with them, smiled occasionally, but for the most  
part looked preoccupied and sad. With a pang in her heart, Hermione realized that it was probably her  
fault that he was so miserable. Her eyes were stinging again--she'd gotten used to it by now. It always  
amazed her that no matter how many times she cried, there were ALWAYS more tears ready to come out. She  
had a seemingly endless supply, and part of it was threatening to make an appearance.  
  
Suddenly, Sirius looked up and saw her peeking around the corner. "Hermione! There you are!"  
  
***  
  
Harry glanced over at Hermione's pale little face peeking at them from the stairwell. She didn't look  
well at all--she had dark circles under her eyes, and her face had lost most of its roundness and looked  
thin and very, very pale. Still, he smiled, glad to see her.  
  
She stepped out from behind the wall, timidly, and Harry saw that she had a quilt draped over her, so  
only her head was visible. She offered a rather weak smile and just stood there, eyes flicking from him  
to Ron, who was sitting in a nearby chair, not looking at her.  
  
Harry walked over to her instead and grabbed her in a hug. She put her arms around him and the quilt   
fell off, leaving her in her T-shirt and shorts, and Harry noticed how very thin she'd gotten. "'Mione,  
have you eaten anything since last school year?"  
  
She shrugged, pulling the blanket self-consciously around her shoulders again. "Yes," she muttered.  
  
Harry raised an eyebrow and glanced at Ron, who seemed to have become very interested in the stack of  
Witch Weekly magazines on the coffee table. He glanced back at Hermione. "Well, if you'd like, we can  
talk about this later, okay?"  
  
She nodded, somewhat reluctantly, and sat down on the couch, staring off into space. Harry sighed. She  
wasn't doing well. And why was Ron so quiet? He hadn't mentioned anything to Harry...  
  
He sighed again. Life was too complicated. No, not life; life with Voldemort. Yes. He was what made life  
complicated. If it weren't for Voldemort, Harry would never have even met the Dursleys, Sirius would  
never have been to Azkaban, Hermione would still have parents...The familiar sensation of true loathing  
came over Harry as he thought about it. One of these days...  
  
He was distracted from feeling hateful, though, as Ginny entered the living room, carrying a tray of  
chocolate chip cookies and looking nervously from Ron to Hermione. She glanced at Harry and shrugged  
nervously, setting the cookies down on the table and sitting down on the couch next to Hermione, looking  
thoroughly apprehensive, wringing her hands in her lap. Harry glanced at Ron again, feeling rather  
uncomfortable in the silence.  
  
***  
  
Ron stared at the magazines until he thought the words, "Witch Weekly" were probably burned into his  
vision permanently. Well, she was acting like nothing had happened, still behaving like her spooky self.  
Why should he let on that he was miserable? "Because you are," one part of him said. "Don't pretend you  
aren't, because it's obvious anyway. You've never been one for suffering in silence, have you?"  
  
SHUT UP, he thought, and stared at the magazines once more. Come to think of it, he thought, risking a  
quick glance at Hermione, she didn't look too happy, either. Part of him, the argumentative part, was  
still angry and hurt that she'd been so mean to him. The other part of him, though, still loved her more  
than anything and wanted to forgive her. But she'd have to apologize first. Yes, he knew she'd been   
traumatized. He knew she was miserable. But she'd also hurt him, and he wanted her to know that.  
  
She glanced at him and held his gaze for a moment before he broke away, and went back to staring at the  
magazines again. After a moment, he wasn't able to take the pressure, and stood up. "I think I'll go   
send a quick owl to Charlie. Be right back."  
  
Of course, he had no intention of being "right back." He went up the stairs quickly and slumped down at  
his desk, sighing. He thought momentarily of actually writing to Charlie, but thought better of it, and  
instead stood and allowed himself to collapse on his bed. 'Hey,' he thought. 'It worked for her, didn't   
it? Maybe it'll work for me...'  
  
***  
  
Hermione knew he wasn't coming back down. Not for a while, anyway. She sighed, biting back tears yet  
again. Harry kept shooting nervous glances at her, and she was not looking forward to having to tell him  
about what happened. Especially between herself and Ron. That had been totally horrid on her part. And  
she knew it, too.  
  
But, Harry sighed and turned to her. "Hermione, d'you want to talk?"  
  
She sighed. Well, it had to happen sometime, didn't it? "Okay. Outside?"  
  
He nodded and followed her out. She sat down on the edge of the front porch, still hugging the tattered  
quilt around her shoulders, and Harry sat down next to her. Neither one said anything, then he turned   
and looked at her. Without even looking at him, she started crying. She wasn't sobbing, really, but   
silent tears were sliding down her cheeks and she shook her head, miserable.  
  
"Ron told me about your parents."  
  
So Ron had written Harry about her. Well, that was to be expected.   
  
"But I get the impression that there's something else going on around here. What's up between you and   
Ron? You guys were awfully quiet back there."  
  
She sighed raggedly and made herself meet his eyes. It was inevitable, after all. He showed nothing but  
concern. Well, it was nice that she had two--well, one now, she reminded herself, holding back more   
tears--people who cared about her that much. She closed her eyes and stopped crying. "Did he tell you  
about...?"  
  
"You sleeping all day? Yes, he mentioned that. He sounded really worried."  
  
Darn it, just when she'd stopped crying. "Well, he came in this morning to try and make me get up and...  
I-I yelled at him and it was...really mean of me, what I said, and I didn't really mean it but I'm so  
scared, Harry, and I just wanted to sleep because when I sleep I don't have to worry about anything and  
that way I'm not so scared anymore and I didn't want to get up and face the world because I just can't  
take it anymore and so I was just horrible to him and it was just awful, Harry..." Here she took a very  
deep breath and promptly started crying harder.  
  
"What did you say?"  
  
Hermione hid her face in her hands. She hated repeating it, even to herself. "I told him to mind his own  
business and leave me alone," she sobbed. Yes, she was back to sobbing now, and she hated herself for   
it.  
  
Harry slid an arm around her shoulders. "Well..."  
  
She jerked away from him. "I know, I know!" she interrupted, wiping her eyes. "It was horrid of me, and   
I feel dreadful, and he looked so sad back there, but I couldn't say anything because I'm too ashamed   
and...And..."  
  
"Well," Harry began again, over her quiet crying, "I'd suggest you DO go talk to him. I think you really  
hurt him, 'Mione."  
  
She put her face in her hands again. "That's not all, Harry...I'm scared to death. What if they come   
back and want to hurt him? They came after me, and I don't know why the let me live, but they did. So  
what if it was a mistake and they come back again and try to get me, and they kill Ron in the process?  
Not to mention his family, and it would all be my fault...I can't stay here, but I've nowhere else to go  
to, Harry, my home's gone, my family--" her voice caught in her throat, but she continued hoarsely "--is  
gone, and I don't know what I'm going to do..."  
  
Harry sighed. "Everyone's scared, Hermione, it's not just you. You can't live your life always afraid,  
you know. Ron doesn't seem too worried about Voldemort right now--just you. Forget Voldemort for just a  
little while, and concentrate on Ron. Also, don't you have an Aunt? You could live with her, couldn't  
you?"  
  
"Yes, but..." She wiped her eyes and looked at him. "I don't know her very well, and I'm..." She sighed  
again, her lungs seemingly shaking with the effort--she'd exhausted herself crying. "I'm too scared."  
  
Harry nodded. "Well, keep in mind that not ALL relatives are like the Dursleys." He smiled wryly. "Just  
mine, since I have such fabulous luck." He glanced at her, green eyes serious. "I would suggest," he  
muttered, "that you go talk to Ron. Swallow your pride and do it. You can't just push everyone away,  
'Mione. It doesn't work that way."  
  
She nodded, sniffling. "You're right." She laughed a little through her tears. "Of course, when aren't   
you?"  
  
"Oh, I can think of a fair few times," he said, smiling softly. "Now, go talk to Ron. I've got to have  
a quick chat with Snuff--er--Sirius."  
  
Hermione nodded and stood up, still holding onto her quilt as though for dear life. She watched Harry go  
inside and took a deep breath, steeling herself up for what she was about to do. Then, thinking of how  
sad Ron had looked back in the living room, she nodded to herself and walked inside. Up the stairs, down  
the hall...There was Ron's room. She knocked quietly and pushed the door open.   
  
He was lying on the bed, arms crossed over his chest, eyes closed, breathing deeply. He was obviously  
asleep..."No!" she told herself. "You're not going to back out of this one! Tell him you're sorry! After  
saying all you did, it's a wonder he'll stay in the same house!"  
  
She nodded and gently shook his shoulder. He groaned and rubbed his eyes for a moment, then he saw her  
and crossed his arms again. "Yes?"  
  
Oh, he was being cold. Ignoring the usual threat of tears, she bit her lip and sat down on the bed next  
to him. "Ron, I'm so sorry..."  
  
"Are you?" he asked tonelessly.  
  
She bit her lip harder and started as she tasted blood. She brought her fingers to her mouth and brought  
them back down with traces of red on their tips. "Oh..."  
  
He sat up next to her, looking concerned. "Now why'd you go and bite your lip open?"  
  
She shook her head, still just staring at her fingers. Suddenly, and without warning, her shoulders   
started shaking and she was crying again. Now she was furious with herself. She hadn't even had a chance  
to tell him she was sorry, and now she was bawling again like a small child with a skinned knee...Which  
was why she was so surprised that he just took her in his arms and rocked her.   
  
After a moment, she regained control of her aching lungs and took a deep, if ragged, breath. "Ron, I'm  
so sorry I said that...I didn't m-mean it, but it just came out and I feel horrible and I want you to  
forgive me so m-much but I know that you probably can't because I was so horrid a-and..." She trailed   
off as a yawn interrupted her apology.  
  
Ron laughed very quietly. "I don't believe it--you're still tired."  
  
"I know," she moaned, halfway laughing.  
  
"Well," he muttered, "I forgive you, so don't beat yourself up over it."  
  
Hermione let out a deep breath. "Thank you..." she muttered. "I don't deserve you and Harry."  
  
"Oh, now don't start on that, you," he muttered, pulling away and brushing her hair out of her face.   
"You know perfectly well that Harry and I both love you and aren't about to abandon you. You do too  
deserve us, if you consider that a compliment." He smiled lopsidedly and she completely melted.  
  
She readjusted the quilt around her shoulders. "Thank you," she whispered. "I..." her voice shook and   
she took a deep breath. "I love you."  
  
He grabbed her in a hug again and she sighed.   
  
"I love you, too," he muttered. 


	5. An Interesting Twist...

Disclaimer: Oh, what's the point? It's not mine. Don't sue--I've only got my lunch money.  
  
A/N: I got so many nice reviews! *dances around the room, attracting strange looks from family* Thanks  
to everyone! Oh, and I just have to do this, because...Well, I dunno why. Go read Ebony Foxfire's "In  
The Center of the Trophy Room" if you haven't--I'm assuming anyone keeping up with this drivel likes  
R/H fluff, and I told Ebony to post it, and believe me, it DEFINES R/H fluff. Plus it's amazingly cute.   
  
I'll be on medication for a bit, I think. I may be coming down with strep throat. *everyone backs away  
in fear of contamination* Anyway, I'll be able to keep writing this stuff. I've written down my Sudafed-  
induced plotline.  
  
A'right, I'll shut up now. Please do review--I promise not to beg anymore. For this part.  
  
Lost  
Part 5  
By Veralidaine  
  
"Well, we were thinking..." Harry paused, watching Hermione stir her oatmeal around her bowl listlessly.  
He cleared his throat and began again. "Sirius and I were thinking that, since he's been cleared and I'm  
going to go live with him, you could come to, if you like."  
  
Hermione looked up abruptly. "D'you...D'you mean it?"  
  
"No," Sirius said earnestly, before dropping his hands to his sides and breaking into a rather sarcastic  
smile. "Hermione, if we didn't mean it, would we really offer it? OF COURSE we mean it..."  
  
And, for the first time since he'd arrived the day before, Harry saw Hermione smile. "Thank you..."  
  
Well, at least she wasn't TOO depressed anymore...She had somewhere to live. Now they only needed to   
work on her eating habits. And sleeping. Yes, that too.  
  
Ron, sitting next to Hermione, heaved a great sigh but didn't say anything. Harry supposed he'd been   
hoping that Hermione would stay at the Weasleys. By the way his friend kept glancing at her, Harry was  
sure that they'd made up over their recent little incident and were back to sneaking nervous little   
glances at each other when they thought no one was looking. So at least THAT was resolved...  
  
Hermione picked up a spoonful of her oatmeal, examined it for a moment, then let it plop right back into  
her bowl, where it was now growing cold. Ron cleared his throat and she glanced at him. "You're not   
going to eat that, are you?"  
  
Hermione sighed and shook her head, sending the usual whisps of hair into her face. "No, I'm not hungry.  
D'you want it?"  
  
Ron shook his head, shooting Harry a worried glance. "No...You really ought to--"  
  
Hermione had caught his eyes with hers and he stopped, looking even more worried when she looked away.  
Hermione turned to Harry. "Well, when are you two heading back to your house?"  
  
"Well, we've not got one yet," Sirius muttered, cramming a few strips of bacon into his mouth, acting  
quite dog-like. "So today I'm going to go see what's available. I'll be staying in London, so it'll be  
you lot staying here for tonight, I think."  
  
"Yes, and you're to behave," Mrs. Weasley added, entering the kitchen and pointing a wand at the sinkful  
of dishes, which started washing themselves. "I'll be helping Sirius pick out a decent house for you   
three, since he seems a tad out of practice." She shot him a none-too-serious glare.   
  
Sirius held up his hands defensively. "Look, *I* thought that flat was nice."  
  
"It didn't have a kitchen."  
  
"And when have I ever cooked?" He laughed. "No, I know what you're getting at, Molly. And you're right.  
I'm glad for your help."  
  
Mrs. Weasley rolled her eyes and hung her apron on a hook on the wall. "Well. Whenever you're ready to   
go, Sirius, we'd best get moving if we want to have all day to house shop." She turned back to the three  
teenagers sitting at the table. "It'll just be you lot and Ginny, I'm afraid. Your father's out tonight  
on Ministry business." She glanced meaningfully at Sirius, who nodded. Harry sighed. As if it wasn't  
obvious--Dumbledore was obviously still working with Mr. Weasley from inside the ministry.  
  
"Anyway," Mrs. Weasley continued, "We'll be getting rooms at the Leaky Cauldron, so you can reach us  
there. And I swear, if I come back to find the house in ruins or-or Ginny hanging from the ceiling   
again--"  
  
"Aw, Mum," Ron interrupted, "that was just a bit of fun...And besides," he added, seeing how her eyes  
narrowed dangerously, "it was Fred and George what did it, not me."  
  
"Right," Mrs. Weasley muttered grumpily. "Well..."  
  
***  
  
At about seven-thirty that evening, Hermione stood up from the kitchen table where she'd been reading  
the Daily Prophet's latest edition and headed into the living room. Once in the doorway, she stopped,  
surprised at what she saw. "You guys have a TV?"  
  
Ginny shrugged. "Yeah, sort of. Dad got one about a month ago and we figured out that all you have to do  
is prod the plug-thing with your wand and it starts up."  
  
Hermione very much doubted that they could pick up any sort of signal with a magically-energized TV, but  
she was wrong. Within about five minutes of swerving the antennae around with a determined expression on  
her little freckled face, Ginny sat back, grinning, as a picture fizzled to life on the screen. "There,"  
she said, glancing up at Hermione. "I think it's a movie, isn't it?"  
  
Hermione raised an eyebrow. "You know about movies? Do you take Muggle studies?"  
  
Ginny shook her head. "Nope. Dad."  
  
"Oh," Hermione said, nodding. "I see. Where's Ron?"  
  
"Up in his room," Harry said, squinting at the TV. "Why don't you go see if he wants to join us."  
  
Hermione nodded and started up the stairs. At the end of the hallway was the familiar door with the  
plaque on it saying, "Ronald's Room." Ron's door stood slightly ajar, and the fierce scratching of a   
quill on parchment was coming from inside. Hermione quietly peeked in to see what he was up to. He was   
bent over his rickety old desk, a recent addition to his room, scribbling something on a sheet of   
parchment and looking quite busy. Hermione quietly stepped inside and closed the door behind her,   
waiting to see if he'd notice. He didn't.  
  
She cleared her throat, and he looked up. "Pardon my intrusion," she said, smiling, "but I'm curious as  
to what you're working on."  
  
He snorted. "'Pardon my intrusion?' What century are you from?"  
  
She grinned, probably for the first time in days, and walked over to his desk, looking at the paper. It  
was headed, "The Process of Becoming an Animagus, by Ronald Weasley." Hermione looked up at him. "For  
Professor McGonagall, right?"  
  
He nodded. "Yeah, she assigns too much holiday work, if you ask me."  
  
Hermione sighed. "Yes, well, Ron, I've heard that much from you before." She looked back and started to  
read through it. "Well, there's a spelling error here--that's supposed to be I before E. And you might   
want to rephrase this here; it sounds sort of odd. Also, there's--"  
  
"Slow down a bit, Professor Granger," he interrupted, leaning over the desk so his face was level with  
hers. Those clear blue eyes were almost overwhelming. He grinned at her. "You and your proofreading. How  
d'you manage to do yours AND correct mine?"  
  
Hermione smiled tartly before something occurred to her. Her eyes grew wide and Ron shot her a confused  
look. "What?"  
  
"Oh...Oh, no...Ron, I...When the house burned down...My-My homework..."  
  
He took her hand and squeezed it before she could work herself up into a proper fit. "'Mione, I already  
talked to McGonagall about it. She says that since you always do it anyway, she's sure you did, and so  
you don't have to worry about it. Full marks, as usual."  
  
She wasn't sure why she was so utterly relieved. Maybe because it was something she DIDN'T have to worry  
about for once. Or perhaps it was just because he'd actually cared enough to do that for her when she  
didn't even say anything to him about it. And when she'd been spending the days sleeping. And yelling at  
him.   
  
Whatever the reason, she couldn't help herself and decided she simply had to give him a hug.  
  
***  
  
Ron was a tad surprised at the way she'd reacted to that. After all, he would have done much more for   
her if he could have. He hadn't really done it to be the hero; just because it occurred to him that she  
would get upset when it finally hit her that her homework was gone. Of course, he still hadn't figured   
out quite what to do when she remembered Crookshanks...He didn't know where the cat was, or whether it  
was even alive.  
  
But since recently he'd been the giver of hugs and not the receiver, he forgot about all of the other  
problems and tried to control the rapid beating of his heart as she slid her hands up over his shoulders  
and around his neck. He'd forgotten how pleasantly nervous it made him, to be touched like that. And   
how much he'd missed it. For just a moment, he was shot back to about a year ago, when they'd first   
acknowledged their feelings for each other, and just having her near him was enough to send him into  
dizzy spells.  
  
As he slipped his arms around her waist, she looked up at him. "Ron, I...Thank you for putting up with  
me. You're wonderful."  
  
He shrugged, embarrassed. "Nah...I mean...For awhile there I was fairly dreadful to you, but you still  
were my friend, regardless of what a bleeding idiot I was."  
  
"Watch your language, and you're not a 'bleeding idiot,'" Hermione said softly, smiling lightly. "You've  
taken care of me, haven't you? The bossy, know-it-all, bushy-haired teachers' pet who is, as I recall,  
'a nightmare, honestly.'" Ron laughed at her attempt to mimic his speech pattern. She smiled somewhat   
lopsidedly. "I mean, if you can deal with me, then certainly you're not a bleeding idiot..." She trailed  
off there as they had been getting gradually closer to each other, and Ron finally leaned over slightly   
and kissed her full on the mouth.  
  
They'd only kissed twice, really, since they'd become "a couple," and Ron had to admit to himself that  
this had to have been the best time yet. He tightened his arms around her waist and she slid her hands  
down onto his shoulders, and they pulled apart, just staring at each other. Finally, Ron shook his head  
slightly to clear it and blinked. "Uh...What was it you actually came up here to tell me?"  
  
They both dissolved into soft giggles and Hermione shook her head. "Uh...Oh, yeah. Ginny's set up the TV  
and they want us to come watch a movie with them, if you're not too busy with homework."  
  
"Depends on your definition of homework," Ron muttered, looking straight into those brown eyes, then he  
cringed. "Bugger...I just said that out loud, didn't I?"  
  
"Yes, you did," Hermione giggled, looking fairly amused. "But then, you never were one for hiding what  
you were thinking, were you?"  
  
"What?" he said indignantly. "What's that supposed to mean?"  
  
She grinned. "Nothing..." she muttered, pulling away from him and slumping down on his bed. "So, about  
the movie...?"  
  
"Oh, yeah," he sighed, running his fingers through his hair. "Well, I s'pose. But I swear to God, if   
Ginny makes me watch that one Muggle flick about the boat sinking ONE MORE TIME..."  
  
Hermione laughed right out at this, but quickly caught herself and stifled it. "You mean 'Titanic?'" She  
giggled again. "Yes, well, I can see how it would get on your nerves..."  
  
"Well, why didn't she just cast a heating charm--he wouldn't've died, then, would he?"  
  
Hermione shook her head, obviously not wanting to go through explaining it to him, and Ron just shrugged  
and dropped his hands to his sides. "Well, fine. I guess I'll go watch their movie."  
  
"Good. I think they'll be pleased."  
  
Ron snorted, not really looking forward to another evening of watching Muggles make idiots of themselves  
onscreen. It got old, after awhile. He shook his head, still trying to figure out exactly why they   
hadn't been able to just waterproof the darn ship.  
  
***  
  
Harry sat on the rather lumpy old sofa and sighed, not really watching the movie. He'd seen Star Wars  
before, and after a rather long try at explaining to Ginny how "The Force" was a little different than  
magic, he just gave up and let her yell things like, "Oh, that was stupid, why not just stun him?" and  
"Oh, come on, he could've used a summoning charm on him!" at the television screen.  
  
He looked up at the stairs as he heard footsteps, and grinned as Ron and Hermione entered the living   
room, looking a tad red in the face. As it had been a good fifteen minutes since he'd sent Hermione up,  
Harry had a pretty good guess as to why they were both looking so very happy. He rolled his eyes and  
went back to listening to Ginny yell at Luke Skywalker: "Why not just use a wand? It's much easier than  
that sword thing, I'm sure..."  
  
He was just drifting off to sleep when suddenly, a tiny sting in his forehead made his eyes snap open.   
It wasn't a really painful sort of sting, just sort of annoying, really. He decided it wasn't much to  
worry about and attempted to sleep again. Once more, just as he closed his eyes, his scar stung again,   
but stronger this time. He shook his head and sat up, not sure what to think, but the pain ceased as  
soon as he sat up, so he slumped back down in his seat, brow furrowed. He'd never had this sort of pain  
before--it was always immediate and strong, not gradual, like this. What did it mean?  
  
Suddenly, it stung again, and this time it really did hurt. "Ow," he muttered, putting one hand up to  
his forehead.   
  
Hermione, who was sitting between him and Ron on the sofa, looked at him. "Harry, is something--"  
  
She never got a chance to finish, as suddenly a blinding pain shot through his scar and seemingly all  
the way down his spine. He yelped and clutched at his forehead, cringing against the pain. Then, just as  
suddenly as it had started, it stopped. He sat up, panting, to see Hermione and Ron staring anxiously at  
him and Ginny, face lit dimly by the TV screen, looking quite scared.  
  
"Well," Ron began quietly, "It doesn't necessarily mean...Because, I mean, doesn't it hurt whenever You-  
Know-Who's in a bad mood? I mean, it doesn't really mean that he's, like..." He trailed off, looking  
nervous. "D'you think we're in any danger?"  
  
Harry shook his head, confused. "I'm not sure...I mean, it was different this time. It wasn't all at  
once, like usual. It got steadily stronger, and it stopped every few seconds. I dunno what it means,   
really..."  
  
"D'you think it might have to do with...with the Death Eaters?" Hermione asked softly, eyes not leaving  
his face. Harry had forgotten--she was probably scared stiff of Death Eaters now that she'd experienced  
them firsthand. He shrugged and Hermione grabbed a nearby pillow and hugged it to her chest, looking   
rather nervous.  
  
Ron slipped an arm around her shoulders and turned back to Harry, who was too busy thinking to mock his  
friend. "What d'you think caused it?"  
  
"Dunno..." Harry rubbed his scar again, but nothing happened. He settled back in his chair, pretending  
not to notice the nervous glances his friends kept shooting at him.  
  
***  
  
Tap, tap, tap.  
  
Hermione sat up just barely, not wanting to leave the warmth that was Ron's shoulder. Groggily, she  
looked over at the TV. Another movie was playing--Titanic, from the looks of it. Vaguely, she figured it  
must have been a 24-hour movie channel or something. How they'd managed to get it using the TV antennae  
was a mystery to her. She snuggled down again, shooting a quick glance at Ginny, who had fallen asleep  
on the floor in front of the TV, to Harry, who was using the sofa's armrest as a pillow. Then she yawned  
and let her head droop back onto Ron's shoulder.  
  
Tap, tap, tap.  
  
It was a very soft sound, and she wondered how it had even woken her, as she'd been so deeply asleep.  
Aggrivated, and still a bit scared after the episode earlier that evening, Hermione looked up at the  
window. There wasn't an owl there, so she could only assume that it was a treebranch, or something  
equally harmless. Well, she hoped it was.  
  
Tap, tap...clunk.  
  
Now she sat up. That had come from upstairs. Maybe she was just imagining it, but...No, those were most  
definitely footsteps. Coming down the hallway. She heard someone on the steps and shook Ron awake. He  
groaned slightly and she shushed him. He sat up as he recognized the sound of footsteps and looked over  
in the direction of the stairs. There was a rather loud squeak as whoever it was stepped on the last  
stair, and someone clothed all in black appeared on the landing, pointing his highly-polished wand at  
them.  
  
  
  
A/N: MUAHAHAHAHAHA! A cliffhanger! Bad, naughty, WICKED Veralidaine! Well, not a very GOOD cliffhanger,  
but a cliffhanger nonetheless. Care to take any guesses as to who it is? Hmm?   
  
I'll try to get the next part posted later tonight or possibly tomorrow morning. Promise.  
  
~ Veralidaine 


	6. So Now What?

Disclaimer: *sigh* This gets boring after the first twenty or so fics. I DON'T OWN IT!  
  
A/N: Ooookay. Part six. Yep. This has continued for WAAAAAAAAY longer than I thought it would. Just as a  
warning, this is going to be ONE LONG NOTE. Feel free to scroll right on past this, but I feel an   
uncontrollable desire to babble for another good paragraph.  
  
Right, so I'm sick. Yes, still. I dropped the cold medication after going to the doctors' office. They  
gave me little pink pills that are supposed to help me feel better, and I was like, "Oh, cool! Now the  
fic's going to be called, 'The Effects of Antibiotics on Writers' Block'!" But unfortunately, an hour   
after taking, I realized in a quite unpleasant manner that I'm allergic to them. So, back to the   
wonderful cold medication that inspired this fic! And who knows how long I'll be taking it??? *goes and   
re-reads what she's just written, slaps forehead, and shakes head* What posessed me to spill out my   
whole life story? I honestly don't know...  
  
Okay, I'll shaddup and let you read the fic now, if you've not just scrolled past this nonsense. If you  
actually take the time to read this, go get yourself a nice big piece of chocolate, and tell yourself   
it's from me. ^_^  
  
~ Veralidaine  
  
Lost  
Part 6  
by Veralidaine  
  
Upon instinct--he supposed that was what happened after spending over six years as "The Boy Who Lived"'s  
best friend--Ron grabbed his wand and shot a rather badly-aimed stunning spell into the dark corner. It  
lit up the landing and whoever it was yelped and went into a duck-and-cover position. Ron practically  
leapt off of the couch, Hermione right behind him, and stalked over to the landing, wand at the ready.  
There was much shuffling, then:  
  
"P-Please don't shoot tha' again, mate."  
  
"Who're you?"  
  
The man stood up, and Ron saw, with some relief, that it was just a common Muggle burglar, dressed all  
in black and carrying a rather bulky sack and a crowbar, and shaking rather uncontrollably. "Please, sir,  
I was jus'..."  
  
"You 'was jus'' what?" Ron growled, still pointing his wand at the man. "Breaking into the house? Oh, is  
that all? What all did you take?"  
  
He was fumbling awkwardly with his bag, and Ron just kept his wand pointed at him, not really scared,   
now that he knew it was only a harmless Muggle he was dealing with and not some masked, violent,  
Unforgiveable-Curse-happy Death Eater. He sighed, keeping a firm hold on his wand.  
  
***  
  
There was something amiss; she knew it. The trouble was, she just couldn't quite put her finger on it.  
Hermione racked her brains, trying to think. What incredibly important, possibly life-threatening detail  
was she overlooking?  
  
*...aiming his highly polished wand at them...*  
  
Wand? But Muggles didn't have wands...It must have been the crowbar. But then, this was a Muggle burglar  
they were dealing with. And Muggles, who did illegal things like this, usually carried a weapon...  
  
Everything slowed down, so she saw every detail. The man fished about in his bag momentarily before his  
eyes lit up in unmistakeable triumph. He started to take the gun out, obviously at the ready, and Ron  
was still standing, oblivious, wand pointed at him. Ron didn't know about guns--how was he supposed to  
defend himself? Finally, Hermione came to her senses and dove forward, pushing Ron away--  
  
BANG!  
  
***  
  
"PETRIFICUS TOTALUS!"   
  
Sparks shot from Harry's wand, hitting the burglar, but not before Ron yelped and clutched at his arm,  
directly after the gun went off. The gun itself fell to the floor, along with the burglar, who looked  
quite confused at not being able to move at all, save for his eyes, which were darting around nervously.  
Obviously, he didn't understand why some boy pointing a stick and yelling funny words could do this to  
him.  
  
Breathing heavily, Harry ran out over to Ron, who had slid down the wall, was clutching his arm just   
below the shoulder, where blood was darkening his shirt sleeve. One look told Harry that Ron had just   
been moved in time--one second longer and he could have been shot somewhere in the lungs or heart...Ron   
groaned and gritted his teeth, looking to be in terrible pain.  
  
"Oh..."  
  
Harry glanced over at Ginny, who, of course, had woken up due to the commotion. She had one hand up to  
her mouth and looked quite pale. "Ron...Oh, no, oh...What're we going to do? What about...Oh, no..."  
  
Hermione seemed to have recovered from the shocked state she'd been in, sitting on the floor where she'd  
fallen after pushing Ron away. She sat up, brow furrowed in worry. "Ginny, do you have a telephone?"   
  
The younger girl nodded silently. Hermione sighed. "Take Harry to it, and get him to call the nearest  
hospital--Muggle OR Wizarding..."  
  
Harry helped Ginny off of the ground and followed her into the next room. There was an old-fashioned   
sort of telephone sitting on a table, and Harry picked it up, checking for a dial-tone. Then it occurred  
to him that they didn't have a phone book.  
  
"How can we...?"  
  
***  
  
Ron groaned, swearing to himself quietly. Hermione crawled over on her hands and knees. "Ron, take your  
hand off; we've got to bandage it or something."  
  
"'S Harry gone to call a hospital or what?" He shook his head, trying to clear it. His vision was   
swimming, and he was unable to focus on anything. The pain in his shoulder was overwhelming, though he  
had a pretty good idea that the--What was it called? Oh, yes, bullet--hadn't gotten stuck in him.   
  
Hermione nodded, looking close to tears. It didn't really annoy him or anything, but he wished she   
wouldn't. "'Mione, don't go and cry over this, okay? And tell Harry just to send an owl to St. Mungo's.   
It's the easiest thing to do."  
  
She slapped her forehead. "Oh, of course! How stupid...? Ugh...I'll always be a Muggle at heart, won't   
I?"  
  
Ron cringed again, squeezing his arm with one hand and trying (unsuccessfully) to ignore the intense  
pain. Any moment now, he was sure he'd pass out...  
  
Hermione frantically returned a moment later with her wand, and crouched down next to him, trying to pry  
his fingers gently off of his arm. "Lemme see, just for a moment..."  
  
Part of him was telling him to stop being such a baby and take his hand off, but the other part was far  
too concerned with the increase in pain if he did. Finally, though, Hermione wrenched his hand off, and  
he felt his arm stinging unbearably and breathed in sharply, causing Hermione to cringe slightly and  
apologize.  
  
"Ferula," she muttered, and bandages spun around his arm and shoulder, far more effective than his hand  
had been. Hermione helped him stand up--it ached him to try--and he felt like collapsing. He vaguely was  
aware of her leading him over to the couch before he practically fell into it and--blissfully--lost all  
consciousness.  
  
***  
  
Hermione took several deep breaths--Ron may have been thin, but he was much taller than her and weighed  
quite a bit. When he'd collapsed a moment ago, she'd been worried he'd injure himself further and had  
tried to help lower him to the couch. It had proved to be much more difficult than she'd expected.  
  
But then, she wasn't exactly the perfect weight-lifting specimen herself...  
  
She sighed, slumping down on the couch next to him, extremely worried. The bullet had only grazed his   
arm, from what she'd seen while bandaging it. Granted, she'd only seen it for a few seconds, as Ron had  
refused to take his hand off long enough for her to get a good look at it. However, it hadn't gone into  
his lungs or heart, obviously, as she'd pushed him out of the way in time, but he was still in severe  
pain, and possible danger if he didn't get medical attention. And soon.  
  
So, as could be imagined, she was quite relieved when several wizards--a few from St. Mungo's, and a few  
from the Ministry--Apparated into the front hallway of the house. The hospital wizards conjured a   
stretcher and carefully lifted Ron onto it, while one of the ministry wizards performed a quick memory  
charm on the burglar and the other questioned Hermione, Harry, and Ginny, promising to take them all to  
St. Mungo's as soon as they'd gotten all of the information they needed.  
  
***  
  
Harry blinked slowly, trying to stay awake as the ministry car zoomed along the roads. They were still   
underaged, so they couldn't Apparate, and St. Mungo's didn't allow the use of Floo Powder in order to  
monitor the visitors to the hospital. As a portkey hadn't been previously arranged, they were stuck   
using the old Muggle way of transportation.  
  
He glanced at his watch. 3:45 AM. It was late. Or early--whichever way you looked at it. He sighed and  
rubbed his eyes, trying to wake himself up. He had been informed before they left that Ron was doing   
fine at the hospital, and that his parents had been notified that he was there, and that in general,   
everything was okay again. And that kept Harry from worrying too much. However, there was still that  
nagging thought at the back of his mind: Why had his scar hurt?  
  
He was fairly sure it wasn't the burglar. After all, having a burglar come to the house had nothing to  
do with Voldemort. So it didn't make any sense. At all. As his tired mind puzzled over this, the car  
pulled into a rather odd parking lot, in front of a large white building. As Harry stepped out of the  
car and looked around, no highways were visible--the place looked as if it was in the middle of a forest  
rather than the city, like most hospitals. But then, Harry reminded himself, this WASN'T most hospitals.  
  
***  
  
Muttering swear words that were fairly nasty, even for him, Ron opened his eyes. Darn it, he'd regained  
consciousness. And the pain was horrible. However, it wasn't just in his arm anymore. It was all over,   
and Ron strongly suspected they'd given him some sort of healing potion. This suspicion was confirmed  
when he found the little pinprick on his uninjured arm--yep, they'd injected it.   
  
He sighed, pulling at a loose thread in the white quilt covering him. Well, now both his arms hurt. How   
was it that Muggles would keep the pain in one area of your body, and still heal it, but Wizards felt   
compelled to spread it EVERYWHERE, and then heal it? It didn't make much sense to him, but then, it may   
have just been the medication. (A/N: We all know the feeling, right? ^_^)  
  
Vaguely, he wondered what his Mum would say. She didn't like leaving her children alone, even BEFORE   
this little incident. NOW what? She'd probably never let Ron leave her sight. Or Ginny. Ron sighed yet  
again and stopped unstitching the quilt. So much for freedom. Knowing his Mum, she'd not leave him alone  
until he was forty-five or so. Speaking of...  
  
The door opened and his rather frantic mother came hurtling through, tears streaming down her face and  
Sirius following behind, looking nervous. Ron rolled his eyes as his mother threw her arms around his  
neck, talking a mile a minute about how scared she was, and how dangerous it was to try and deal with it  
on his own, and how she shouldn't have left them home alone all night, and how... Ron eventually tuned  
it out after awhile, sighing deeply and shooting glares at Sirius, who was laughing at the facial   
expression he wore.   
  
Finally, Sirius gently helped pry Ron's mother off of him, leaving a very grateful Ron to lie back down   
on his bed, shaking his head. "Mum, I'm fine, really." She continued to babble on for awhile, and Ron,   
feeling slightly insensitive, shushed her. "Mum!" She stopped abruptly and looked at him. Ron sighed. "I  
am FINE, okay? Keep your hair on."  
  
He was spared from hearing her reply as the door opened again and a very tired-looking Harry and   
Hermione stepped through, followed by a Ministry wizard.  
  
***  
  
"Are you okay, Ron?" Hermione said, in perfect sync with Harry. She looked at him and they both laughed.  
She turned back to Ron, who had managed to pull himself into a sitting position, despite the fuss his  
mother was making about it.   
  
"Yeah. 'M fine." Using his good arm, he ran his fingers through his hair. "It hurts a bit, but I'm okay.  
What exactly did they give me?"  
  
"They told us it was basically some pain-killer and...uh...something purple," Harry said, rubbing his  
eyes. "Not skele-grow, but, like, the muscle equivalent. I dunno what it was called."  
  
"Well, whatever it was, it's not pleasant," Ron muttered.   
  
Hermione sat carefully down on the foot of his bed. "So d'you feel ANY better?"  
  
He shrugged. "I guess."  
  
Hermione nodded. "Well, I tried to push you out of the way in time, but I was too stupid to realize what  
he had in that bag."  
  
"What, you were going to take that bullet for me?"  
  
Embarrassed, Hermione shrugged. "I s'pose." She looked down at the floor, not sure exactly what to say  
next. A hand gripped hers and she looked up to see Ron staring at her with an odd look on his face. She  
swallowed the lump in her throat and was about to say something, when the door flew open again.  
  
Everyone turned expectantly, and Mr. Weasley rushed inside, panting. "The house..."  
  
Mrs. Weasley stood up, looking frantic. "What happened, Arthur?"  
  
Mr. Weasley shook his head. "The house is in shambles, with the Dark Mark hanging over it. I arrived   
after most of the officials, and apparently the house was attacked by a mob of Death Eaters. No one was  
there, though, so they ransacked the house and left." He swallowed roughly and looked at Ron. "I hope  
you aren't too offended, but I have to contact Dumbledore immediately."  
  
Hermione shook her head. Death Eaters? She shuddered involuntarily. They'd done the same thing to the   
Weasleys' house as they'd done to hers, only thankfully no one was there to kill. Still...Had it been  
Harry that they were coming for? No, Dumbledore kept his whereabouts strictly secret. He'd had a special  
charm put on him so that no one could find him. So then, if not Harry, the only other person there who   
they would be looking for was...her. So now what?  
  
A/N: Well. Sorry this took so long to write, and it's absolute crapola, I know, but oh, well. I've been  
taken off of my cold medication, so I don't know WHAT I'm going to do...Maybe I'll just have a nice cup  
of caffeinated tea and see what happens...^_^  
  
Okay, if you didn't like it, don't flame. Constructive criticizm's okay, but I really dislike getting  
flames. It totally cancels out twenty good reviews. So don't, okay?  
  
Please do review, though, if you did like it!  
  
~ Veralidaine 


	7. School

Disclaimer: Okay, first off, if anyone associated with J.K. Rowling or Bloomsbury Publishing actually  
READS my stuff, let me know, and I'll keep this up. Otherwise, it's getting old. *sigh* I OWN NAUGHT!  
  
A/N: I have some bad news: I am no longer sick. I no longer need cold medication. I went and read over  
the first parts of this story, and I must say, I feel like a complete nutter. Ugh, do you think I used  
the word "'Mione" enough? *sigh* Ah, well. Didya know I got a website? Huh? Didya? *looks much too proud  
of herself* I did. It's kinda sad, though. And I am rambling. Yes, I most definitely am.   
  
Okay, to the point: I shall continue this, even though I am no longer under the influence of various  
decongestiants, but it probably won't be any good, now that the sudafed doesn't have a say in the plot.  
  
Oh, and snitch--your sense of humor isn't that odd. Occasionally, I write random, rambling, nonsensical  
notes to my friends during school, and it's a lot like my notes on my fics, and they find them amusing,  
if pointless, I think. (Please do correct me if I'm wrong, Ebony.^_^)  
  
And Aleeandra--I'm quite flattered that you love this series, but I think you should seek medical   
attention immediately. You've got issues if you actually like this drivel. (j/k...well, sorta...)  
  
Last message; I promise: To Aria--Thank you, thank you, thank you! I promised myself I wouldn't ask   
people to nominate me, and I am positively thrilled that you might even CONSIDER it! *does a little   
dance around the room, attracting funny glares from the rest of her family, who is currently eating*  
  
Right, to the fic, then. Please do review--I promise not to beg anymore! *crosses fingers*  
  
Lost  
Part--what, seven? Jeez...yes--7  
by Veralidaine  
  
(I do not feel like coming up with a creative, cutsie little chapter title today. Sowwy.)  
  
Hermione sat on her bed in the Leaky Cauldron, flipping through her new textbooks. Of course, as she had  
lost all of her notes and background reading, she was panicked about maintaining her usual standards for  
grades. After all, losing parents, a home, a SECOND home, and having a mob of Death Eaters searching for  
her for mysterious and frightening reasons was no excuse for not being her usual ahead-of-the-rest-of-  
the-class self. Not at all.  
  
"Let's see..." she muttered, running her finger down the page, trying to cram as many facts as possible  
into her already over-loaded mind. "Amphisbaena...Only found in Eastern Europe...Skin is a remedy for  
cold shivers..."  
  
She was on the verge of slamming the book shut and screaming at the top of her lungs, "I HATE THIS!" but  
was prevented from doing so by a soft knock on the door. "Come in?"  
  
Ginny entered and shut the door quietly behind her. "So, how're you feeling?"  
  
Hermione snorted. "Me? 'Scuse me, but I think we're right about on the same level as of now."  
  
Ginny smiled. "Well...That's not the point." Her eyes flicked to the immense pile of books strewn about  
her matress. "You're excused from homework, you know. You don't have to--"  
  
"Yes, but I DO have to, is the problem," Hermione said, stacking several books on her bedside cabinet.   
"I can't fall behind."  
  
Ginny sighed exasperatedly. "Hermione, you're practically two years ahead of everyone else as is. You  
don't have to worry about it."  
  
"No," Hermione said briskly, shaking her head. That need to scream was back. She swallowed it. "I'm...I  
dunno. It's important."  
  
Ginny patted her hand and said, quite nicely and with a smile on her face (not at all like Ron), "You're  
mental."  
  
"So I've heard," Hermione responded dryly. "So, why'd you originally come in here?"  
  
"Oh, yes," Ginny said, bouncing up from the bed and inspecting her reflection in the mirror across the  
room. "Ron and Harry want to go for an ice cream, and want you to come."  
  
"I'm a tad busy."  
  
"Well, they're really quite worried about you. You know...They think you're going to have a nervous  
breakdown or something."  
  
Hermione sighed. "Tell Ron not to worry about me; I'm fine."  
  
"Well..."  
  
Hermione sighed. It wasn't as if she was really wanting to put up a fight for staying cooped up in her  
room, just asking for loss of sanity. "Do they have chocolate?"  
  
"Yes," Ginny said, grinning broadly and grabbing Hermione's arm and pulling her out the door. "Florean  
Fortescue's has everything..."  
  
***  
  
"Right," Ron muttered, cramming a chocolate frog into his mouth as he skimmed through the page. "Harry,  
what's an amphisbaena?"  
  
"Ask Hermione."  
  
They had only one more day in the Leaky Cauldron before they were to leave for King's Cross Station, and  
Ron, though not really concerned about how much information he knew, didn't want to be left completely  
in the dark. And, Hermione had been nagging at the two boys, trying to get them to study. Ron didn't  
know why, but he didn't argue with this point. He just nodded, and then did what she asked, much to the  
obvious surprise of Harry.  
  
"She'll have a breakdown," Ron said, looking up from his book. "She's trying to memorize the textbooks  
between now and Wednesday." Two days ago, at Florean Fortescue's, Hermione had been rambling nonstop  
about her nervousness. Apparently, being a full year ahead of all other seventh years was not nearly  
satisfactory for her. Ron shook his head. 'That's Hermione for you...'  
  
"She'll have a job, then," Harry replied, scribbling furiously on his parchment. "Uh...What are the   
twelve uses of dragon's blood again? I can't remember number seven..."  
  
Ron shrugged and turned his glance to his book. He wasn't even really reading it, but thinking. He had  
no home to return to, after school. Where would he go? Where would his entire FAMILY go? He frowned,  
thinking and worrying. They obviously didn't have enough money to buy a new house...  
  
And as for Hermione--why were the Death Eaters so interested on getting their hands on her? What had she  
ever done? That REALLY worried him. His family would be okay once they left for school--Hermione was  
quite obviously the target that was causing the destruction. Whenever she brought that point up, he  
denied it, of course, but it was true. And Hogwarts was safe--she'd be safe there. He still worried,   
though.   
  
He shook his head, trying to find SOMETHING to distract himself from his worries about his family and  
Hermione. Like school. Yeah, school would do. "So, Harry, who d'you suppose'll be the next Defense   
teacher?"  
  
Harry shrugged. "Dunno. Hope whoever it is actually knows what they're talking about."  
  
"'S long as it's not Lockhart, I'm happy," Ron muttered. He noticed his friend was smirking. "What?"  
  
"Well, I have to wonder if you weren't just jealous of the git," Harry said carefully. "I mean, I know  
he was annoying, but he wasn't THAT bad, and--"  
  
"I was not," Ron said indignantly, feeling his ears turn red. "He was a fraud, Harry, we all know that.  
And he was about as stupid as they come."  
  
Harry nodded, holding his hands up defensively. "Right, right...I'll drop it."  
  
Ron raised an eyebrow. "I s'pose you think yourself quite funny, then?"  
  
Harry thought for a moment. "Yes."  
  
"Well, I can be funny, too. About certain Ravenclaw chasers. Named Ch--" He was interrupted by a rather  
well-aimed pillow. "Fine, have it your way."  
  
"Truce?"  
  
"Temporarily, yes," Ron said. A moment later, all of his worries had returned. Well, at least he'd been  
rid of them for a few moments.  
  
***  
  
Harry slumped down in his seat on the Hogwarts Express, glancing first at Hermione, who was muttering  
rather vaguely to herself as she skimmed through yet another textbook, to Ron, who was staring rather  
absently out the window. He was obviously worried--about everything. And, truthfully, so was Harry.   
  
The Weasleys had been more of a family to him than the Dursleys ever had, that was for sure. And now   
they had no house, and Hermione, his best friend, now was an orphan, and she had lost her house as well.  
And all because of the one person that constantly haunted his nightmares and caused him so much grief--  
Voldemort. Harry hated him, with a passion.  
  
He fiddled with the top of Hedwig's cage, and then glanced at Pig's somewhat smaller one. Then it hit  
him that they were certainly missing one of their party: Crookshanks. And Harry wasn't about to bring   
it up with Hermione--she was on the verge of a mental and emotional breakdown as it was. It wasn't as  
though he really MISSED Crookshanks; more that he missed the familiar routine. He had become used to his  
life--survive the summer with the Dursleys, maybe a trip to the Weasley's, shopping with Hermione in  
Diagon Alley, and then the ride to Hogwarts on the Express, with the old familiar faces and maybe a   
snack from the food cart...   
  
And then, Harry noted, raising his eyes to the ceiling, an appearance by Malfoy. As if cued by his   
thoughts, the compartment door slid open, and the three Slytherins were revealed behind it, standing in  
the hallway. Malfoy sneered, and it occurred to Harry that it must be hard to keep his face in that  
expression as much as he did. "Potter."  
  
"Yes, that's his name," Hermione said from behind her book.  
  
"I didn't ask you, Granger," Malfoy said icily, turning back to Harry. But before he could say anything,  
Hermione interrupted again:  
  
"Look, we all KNOW the routine by now. You come and threaten us with the wrath of the Dark Lord, throw  
a few insults at each of us, and then leave, either because an adult intervenes, or because you've been  
cursed. We're all TIRED of it, and personally, I'm not that scared anymore." She stood up, and Harry got  
the distinct impression that she had finally had that long-anticipated mental breakdown.  
  
"My parents are dead. My house is gone. You people were even low enough to kill my CAT, for that matter.  
If you think I'm still scared of your silly threats, MALFOY," she spat the words and glared at him,   
"then you are gravely mistaken. I've got NOTHING to lose now. So why don't you drag your sorry carcass   
back out into the aisle and torment someone who is a tad less jaded than I am?"  
  
Malfoy just stared at Hermione for a moment, tried and failed to sneer, and instead backed into the   
aisle again, sliding the door shut behind him. Harry couldn't really blame him--he wouldn't have wanted  
to be on the receiving end of the glare Hermione was sending.  
  
***  
  
"Wow," Ron muttered as Hermione sat down.   
  
"'Wow' what, exactly?" Hermione asked mildly, opening her book again. She was quite red in the face, and  
Ron was sure she was a tad embarrassed by her sudden loss of composure.  
  
"That was...That was right up there with the whole ferret thing. Did you see the look on his face?"  
  
"I did," Hermione muttered. "I'm just glad he left."  
  
Ron shrugged. Part of her little speech had disturbed him. "So you really feel that you've got nothing  
to lose?"  
  
Hermione looked up, eyes wide. "Oh, no, Ron, don't take it that way. I just...I wanted him to leave us  
alone this year. I know he won't," she added quickly, "but I thought I'd have a go at making him. I   
didn't mean that I don't care about you two...Not at all..."  
  
He shrugged. "So, who d'you s'pose will be the next Defense teacher?"  
  
"Well, we never do know, do we?" Hermione said softly, closing her book. "We've had various teachers,   
all of whom seem to last up to a year."  
  
"Ron was just saying a few days ago that as long as it isn't Lockhart, he's happy," Harry muttered, as  
Ron shot him an annoyed look.  
  
"Well, I agree," Hermione said. "Lockhart was a fraud."  
  
Harry snickered, but said nothing. Hermione gave him a rather sour look and picked up her book again,  
muttering something in which the words "silly crush" and "only twelve" were audible.  
  
Ron knew his ears were a bit red, but he didn't say anything after that, though he was dying to. To make  
a sarcastic remark right now, after seeing Hermione scare Malfoy away, was not a wise decision. Instead  
he simply turned and stared out the window, watching the foliage outside growing gradually wilder and   
less farmed.   
  
A few rather silent hours later, lanterns flickered to life in all of the compartments, and the sky   
outside of the small window became a rather inky blue-black color. Ron settled down into his seat,   
sighing deeply. Their last year. Another thing to add to his long list of worries--what in the world was  
he going to do after graduation? What would he be good at...Well, good enough to make a living at? Snide  
remarks and chess weren't exactly common in job descriptions.  
  
Everyone in the compartment looked up as the train began to slow. Hermione slipped a ribbon into her   
book, which was now nearing the last few pages, and glanced at her watch. "It's not nearly time yet,"   
she murmured nervously. "Harry, d'you think--"  
  
"No," Harry said quickly. "It's not Death Eaters, and it's CERTAINLY not Dementors." He shrugged. "My  
scar isn't hurting at all."  
  
Ron glanced out the window, but it was too dark by now to see anything. "Well, the only place I can   
think that we'd stop is that one small station--you know, where we picked up the Dementors last time."  
He grimaced as Harry and Hermione shuddered involuntarily. "It's usually the station where they pick up  
people coming from farther away."  
  
"Why d'you suppose we're stopping, though?" Hermione asked nervously. "I mean, I can't think why in the  
world--"   
  
She was cut off by the sound of the pistons starting up, and with a jerk the train began moving again,  
gathering speed. Ron's attention was dragged from Hermione's confused expression to the rather quiet  
sound of footsteps outside in the aisle. And then the door slid open.  
  
***  
  
Hermione had half expected a Death Eater to come barrelling into the compartment, shooting the Avada  
Kedavra in every possible direction, cackling madly, So the short, round-faced, rather kind-looking   
woman standing there had come as a bit of a shock. She was dressed in long black robes that contrasted  
with her pale skin, and round, blue-gray eyes took in her surroundings. She brushed a stray lock of  
wavy brown hair from her face and set down the rather heavy-looking bag she was carrying. "I seem to   
recall the Express being a tad less crowded. Maybe it's just me."  
  
Hermione was a bit taken aback. The woman had a rather strong Irish accent, and was certainly no taller  
than her. "Emm..."  
  
"Oh, sorry." The woman held out a small hand. "I'm Professor McLellan. The other compartments are quite  
crowded, and I was wond'ring if you'd mind sharing?"  
  
  
A/N: Heh...Uh, any of you who keep up with my various drivel know who Professor McLellan is. She's just  
there because...Well, the Sudafed put her there. There is a reason. You don't have to read my other   
stuff to get it--that would be shameless plugging on my part. No, she's just there. *shrugs* Anyway,  
more excitement next chapter; I promise. ^_^ I know, I know...This was fluff.  
  
So do you people actually like this story? I'm honestly starting to wonder, what with all the good   
reviews I've gotten...  
  
And here's something new: I ACTUALLY HAVE A PLOTLINE! A REAL ONE! Aren't you all so proud? I wrote it  
down while still under the influence of medicine.  
  
~ Veralidaine 


	8. Back to Class

Disclaimer: Yeah, yeah, yeah...We all know it by now, don't we? I mean, I didn't come up with the peeps  
in this story (with the exception of Fi), so I can go back to saying my old disclaimer: I own naught but  
Fi--er--Professor McLellan.   
  
A/N: Riiiiiiight. Next part. Not much to say, 'cept that this is where it stops being amazingly fluffy.  
Well, for awhile, anyway. Also--here's my take on they famous "Why can't they just rebuild the Burrow  
with magic?" question I've received so many times. Okay, look: I don't think they can/should be able to  
do ANYTHING with magic, otherwise the world would be perfect. I mean, you have to draw the line   
somewhere and say there's a wizarding way of building a house, but it takes time. If they can just wave  
a wand, say a few words, and *poof!* there's a house, then there aren't any conflicts in the stories.  
For now we'll just say the Weasleys are going to rebuild it, and have to hire a wizarding contractor or  
something of that sort. Keep in mind that even magic has its faults, at times. Work with me, here...^_^  
  
Also, to jen: I give you my word that I will not kill Ron. Ever. I adore Ron.  
  
And special thanks to marie, Anne, Crybaby, and of course, Ebony Foxfire, for visiting my site! And they  
even signed the guestbook!  
  
Okay, I got something to discuss with you lot. My dear friend Ebony just received a flame because her   
lovely cold medication-induced story was R/H instead of H/H. If any of you R/H people out there ever  
flame stories because they are H/H, please stop, because it just makes you look like an idiot who can't  
accept the fact that people have differing opinions. Let's be better people than they are, okay?  
  
I won't mention the name of the reviewer ::coughcoughSingingAngelcoughcough:: , but I will say that they  
made themselves look supremely stupid.  
  
Okay, I'm done ranting. Sorry 'bout that, but it just got me SO MAD...*pouts*  
  
Lost  
Part 8  
by (who else?) Veralidaine  
  
As Harry, Ron, and Hermione stepped out of the carriages and ascended the large stone steps leading to  
the oak front door, their new professor led the way, shoulders hunched with the wieght of her rather  
heavy bag, which she was seemingly just managing to keep from dragging on the stone floor. Harry stepped  
into the familiar entrance hall, remembering with a feeling remarkably like dread that this would most  
likely be his last time doing so.  
  
"Well, thanks for letting me sit with you on the ride," Professor McLellan said cheerfully. "Uhm, excuse  
me?" she called into the corner. Harry, Ron, and Hermione turned to look, and saw a small house-elf,   
which they had overlooked, standing in the shadows near a tapestry portraying a medieval-style princess  
and unicorn. The elf looked up quickly and grinned, muttering something in a funny, gruff-sounding  
language, and the professor nodded. The elf picked up McLellan's heavy-looking bag and disappeared into   
the shadows again. Professor McLellan sighed loudly and smiled at them. "Elves are ever so polite, you   
know. Well, I shall see you three later, then, alright?" And with a smile and wave, she headed off in   
the direction of the staff table. However, she suddenly stopped abruptly as she bumped into someone--  
literally.  
  
"Sorry," said a voice Harry recognized instantly.  
  
"Professor Lupin?"  
  
Lupin looked over McLellan's head and smiled warmly. "Harry! How are you?"  
  
"Lupin?" Professor McLellan muttered doubtfully, and looked up at the other Professor's face. Both   
gasped.  
  
"Fi...ona?" Lupin muttered.  
  
Professor McLellan's blue-gray eyes had grown very round, and she seemed at a loss for words. "I--What--  
What are you doing here?" she finally managed, in a rather dazed voice. "And why?"  
  
"I'm teaching," Lupin said softly, dark eyes not leaving hers. "You?"  
  
"Teaching," she mumbled, somewhat moodily.  
  
"Oh." Lupin cleared his throat and nodded at Harry. "Well, I'll see you lot later; I've got to...get to   
the staff table."   
  
He strode off quickly, leaving McLellan standing there, still looking dazed. Finally she looked up.   
"G'bye, then."  
  
"Bye," Hermione said uncertainly, watching her march off in the direction of the Great Hall.  
  
Ron tilted his head, looking pensive. "What d'you s'pose that was about?"  
  
"No idea..." Harry muttered.  
  
Hermione looked curious about something, but said nothing; merely frowned to herself.  
  
Harry led the way and took a seat at the Gryffindor table, turning his attention to the first years as  
they filed incredibly nervously into the Great Hall and watched with great apprehension as Professor   
Flitwick set down the Sorting Hat.  
  
For some reason, the number of Slytherins in the group was quite small. Most of the new students were in  
Gryffindor or Hufflepuff, or occasionally Ravenclaw. Harry wasn't sure why, but it made him wonder...  
  
Dumbledore stood from his seat at the high table and silence fell in the hall. "Welcome to another year  
at Hogwarts," he said, looking tired, but overjoyed to see them all there. "I think most of us already  
know the rules--no students are allowed in the Forbidden Forest, hence the name, and I do believe the  
list of items not allowed within the school has increased to include the recent trend of Canary Creams  
resulting from the opening of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, in Hogsmeade..."  
  
Harry glanced at Ron, who rolled his eyes but said nothing.  
  
"Also, I would like to present our two newest staff members--Professor Lupin, for Defense Against the  
Dark Arts," --much applause from all tables but Slytherin-- "and Professor McLellan for Potions." This  
last name got polite applause, but McLellan obviously wasn't paying attention anyway. She was too busy  
staring in the direction of Lupin, her face somewhere between curiosity and glaring. "Unfortunately,  
Professor Snape will be absent for most of this year, and Professor McLellan will be taking over as Head  
of Slytherin house."  
  
Harry quickly turned to glance at the Slytherin table. It was quite emptier than usual, but the students  
that WERE there were looking scandalized. Malfoy looked like someone had just told him he had been   
diagnosed with an incurable disease. Harry, on the other hand, was rather pleased. Maybe Potions would  
be at least TOLERABLE with Snape gone, and Professor McLellan seemed like a nice sort, when she wasn't  
around Professor Lupin, anyway, for whatever reason...Harry grinned at the look on Malfoy's face again.  
This was definitely going to be an interesting year.  
  
***  
  
Ron smirked at the expression Malfoy wore and nudged Hermione in the ribs to make her look as well. She  
offered a swift grin and then was back to staring raptly at the staff table. Ron was curious as to WHY,  
but quickly found out as Dumbledore continued his speech.  
  
"And last but not least, our Head Boy and Girl. From Ravenclaw, our Head Boy is Mr. Terry Boot, and our  
Head Girl, from Gryffindor, is Ms. Hermione Granger. Congratulations to the both of you," he said, eyes  
twinkling, and sat down. Professor McGonagall left the staff table and quickly walked to Hermione,   
pressing the Head Girl badge into her hand, muttering something, and leaving. Ron caught the words,  
"Couldn't send it to you."  
  
Hermione, still looking shocked, pinned the badge to her robes with fumbling fingers and glanced at Ron,  
eyes wide. "I'm Head Girl..."  
  
"Never would have guessed it," Ron said sarcastically, grinning lopsidedly at her. "Congratulations,  
'Mione."  
  
She grinned broadly and threw her arms around his neck, making him laugh. Then she pulled away, sighing.  
"Wow. Head Girl."  
  
Ron rolled his eyes. "You honestly never saw it coming?"  
  
Hermione shook her head. "No...I kept thinking there had to be at least ONE other person in the school  
who was a better student than I am; who had broken less rules...Someone better in general. It always   
comes as such a shock when this sort of thing happens..."  
  
Ron snorted. "You've got some serious self-esteem issues," he muttered. "And I thought *I* did..."  
  
She smirked at him and crammed a roll in his mouth.   
  
  
Ron opened his eyes sleepily and pulled back the hangings on his bed. The curtains had been pulled back  
from the windows, and sunlight was streaming into the circular room, illuminating it in a rather cheery  
way, although the intense light had not managed to penetrate the thick scarlet hangings of his bed. Ron  
yawned, stretching his long arms over his head, and looked at the clock on his bedside cabinet. "You're  
running late," was the phrase the single hand pointed to.  
  
"Late?" he muttered groggily, and instead glanced at Harry's clock. 8:50. Classes started at...when?   
Nine o'clock. Uh-oh...  
  
He leapt out of bed, swearing to himself as he threw on his clothes, then his robes, all the while   
wondering why in the world someone hadn't woken him. He usually could hear the other boys getting up, as  
they made no effort to be quiet in the mornings. Ron grabbed his bag and sprinted down the stairs before  
running headlong into Hermione.  
  
"Ow!"  
  
"Ouch!"  
  
"Sorry," Ron muttered. Then: "Why are you still up here?"  
  
"Well, I forgot my Arithmancy book, and we were wondering why you hadn't come down to breakfast yet,"  
she said matter-of-factly, gathering the bag of books she'd dropped upon their sudden collision.   
  
Ron bent down to help her. "I dunno WHY I slept in so late," he said, helping her stack books back into  
her bag. "I usually wake up pretty early..."  
  
"Well, Harry had quidditch this morning," Hermione said, slinging her bag over her shoulder and standing  
up to face him. "And Seamus said he and Dean tried to wake you three times but you only told them to go  
away."  
  
Ron chuckled to himself. "Don't remember it, but I probably did...So, what, they wouldn't let you come   
wake me up yourself?"  
  
Hermione gave him a none-too-serious look and cleared her throat. "Yes, well...I believe you have a  
Divination class to be at?"  
  
Ron swore loudly, earning a light smack on the back of his head (Hermione had to stand up on tiptoe to  
manage it), and raced out of the portrait hole. He sprinted up several staircases and down hallways, and  
finally reached his destination late enough to hear the rest of the class milling about above him as he  
climbed the silver ladder and, panting, took his seat next to Harry just in time for Professor Trelawny  
to make her dramatic entrance.  
  
"Hello, my dears. Welcome to your seventh and final year in my class. As we have gradually progressed   
from tea leaves to crystal balls, and last year to dream interpretation, we are now going to be working  
with visions. Though I don't expect any of you to possess the power to have a TRUE vision, I do expect  
all of you to at least ATTEMPT it, in a SERIOUS manner." She glanced at Ron, who grinned back at her.   
  
She sighed. "We are not going to start off the year with visions. For the time being, we will be working  
to review. Today we will be using the tea leaves again."  
  
Ron sighed. He had hoped they'd be doing dream interpretation again--he had loved sleeping during class  
for a grade. However, he stood up with Harry and grabbed the nearest teacup (blue, NOT pink...) before  
slumping back down in his pouf again.  
  
As they drank down the scalding tea, Harry spluttered a few times, stopping to make annoyed faces. "Why  
does she insist we drink it while it's piping hot?" he asked, between sips.  
  
"Because she's a miserable old bat who's made a career out of this sort of thing," Ron muttered,   
draining his cup and pulling a face. "Gah...What IS this made from?"  
  
"Looked like normal tea leaves to me, but then, you never can be sure 'round here, can you?"  
  
Ron nodded, turning his cup over on its saucer. "Well, lemme see yours. Let's see when you're going to   
die this year, shall we?"  
  
Harry snorted and handed over his cup, while Ron turned it about. "Uh..." he muttered, squinting into   
the bottom, "I think that's an acorn or something..."  
  
"Didn't you see one of those in my cup in third year? And didn't she say it was a skull or something?"  
  
Ron looked up. "Yeah, but this REALLY looks like an acorn." He glanced back in the cup. "Well, I s'pose  
it could be, like, a walnut or something, but it's not a skull, 'kay?"  
  
Harry opened his book. "Walnut?" he muttered, smirking. "That's not mentioned here..."  
  
"Well, that settles it, then. It's an acorn," Ron said, grinning. "Right, so, read mine." He set the cup  
back on the table next to his, and Professor Trelawny swept over to them.  
  
"I do believe you were having trouble interpreting the signs within your cup?" she said mistily, as Ron  
gave her a rather sarcastic look. "After four years, I should hope you knew how, Mr. Weasley..."  
  
She leaned over and picked up the cup in front of Ron and started turning it, muttering to herself. Ron  
had to admire Harry--he put up a rather good show of paying attention. Ron considered it a waste of   
energy to even PRETEND, though, so he just stared at the ceiling, allowing his mind to wander freely. He  
was jerked back to reality, however, by the nasty look the professor was sending him. "What?"  
  
"I was just SAYING," she said hotly, "that your cup certainly shows some important events. Someone close  
to you shall die before the end of the year."  
  
Ron raised an eyebrow. "Who, Harry?" he asked, desperately fighting a grin.  
  
She looked quite flustered. "No, a GIRL."  
  
Ron paled at this. Okay, so he knew she was a fraud. There was no way all this nonsense with tea leaves  
was accurate. No possible way. But then...Hermione...  
  
He swallowed roughly. "Uhm...Thanks?"  
  
Looking quite annoyed, the professor swept (rather less-airily this time) over to Lavender and Parvati's  
table. Ron glanced at Harry, who also looked slightly worried. Harry raised an eyebrow. "So..."  
  
"Yeah. What do we tell...?"  
  
Harry shook his head. "She'll think it's all silly, you know."  
  
"Yeah, she probably will."  
  
"She's probably right."  
  
"But still..." Ron bit his lip. "I'll talk to her."  
  
A/N: So, I've got a website. A *NEW* website. I've already posted this part there, and I've even got a  
fan art section (albeit pathetic). Go Visit!   
  
Well, I'll shut up then. Next part will be out sooner, okay? 


	9. Defense Against the Dark Arts

Disclaimer: I don't own it.  
  
A/N: Right, here it is. Part 9. Wow. And what really astonishes me is that I have a plotline after all.  
^_^ How amazing is that?  
  
GinnyPotter: You're still in my good graces, don't worry. It was a perfectly legitimate question, and I  
am not in the least wanting you to think I'm angry with you--you weren't the only one to ask, after all,  
and I'm actually glad someone pointed it out to me. I tend to forget about stuff like that when I'm   
coordinating all of the other details into the plot...Visiting my site would be nice, though, if you're  
up to it...^_^  
  
Ooookay, on to the fic:  
  
Lost - Part 9  
by Veralidaine  
  
Harry dragged a rather nervous Ron out of the North Tower and towards the Defense Against the Dark Arts  
classroom, hoping that once removed from the fogginess and perfumed smoke, their minds would clear.   
Surely Professor Trelawney was being her usual ridiculous self, and this meant nothing. Well, Harry   
HOPED that this meant nothing...  
  
Ron looked rather pale, and kept shaking his head, looking pensive. When they finally arrived at the  
Defense Classroom, Professor Lupin was running late, and Hermione had already saved their table. The  
two boys sat down on either side of her, and Harry looked at Ron pointedly. Ron gulped.  
  
"Is something wrong?" Hermione asked, puzzled.  
  
"Well," Ron muttered, "we were just in Trelawney's class, and she made a prediction..."  
  
"Oh, not AGAIN," Hermione sighed. "Look, however she's decided Harry's going to die this year--"  
  
"She said you were."  
  
"Me?" Hermione said, and Harry couldn't help noticing that her voice sounded a little less confident--  
but only a little. "Well, that's ridiculous. Harry's still here, isn't he? And she said he'd die, didn't  
she?"   
  
Yes, Hermione was obviously still skeptical, but after the summer she'd had, Harry could tell that she   
was pretty shaken up. Though she wouldn't ever admit it, he knew she was actually contemplating whether  
or not to believe Trelawney's prediction. He sighed.   
  
"You're...probably right," Ron said quietly. "I--We just were a little worried."  
  
"Well, I'm glad you care," she said, smiling lopsidedly at them both, "but you needn't worry. I'm not  
going to just kick the bucket right here."  
  
Ron sighed and glanced at Harry over Hermione's head, and Harry nodded. She was probably right; they  
were most likely being silly about this. And yet...For some reason, Harry had the distinct feeling in  
the pit of his stomach that something wasn't right, and that perhaps, for once, Trelawney might be   
right...  
  
***  
  
Ron looked up as Professor Lupin entered the classroom. A few students couldn't stop staring at him, now  
that they knew he was a werewolf, but Lupin seemed to be putting forth a valiant effort to ignore it. He  
walked to the front of his desk and leaned back on it, surveying his class. "Hello, again. You might  
remember me from third year; I think I taught most of you."  
  
Dean Thomas raised his hand, and Lupin called on him. "Professor, is it true that you're a werewolf?"  
  
Lupin sighed, obviously having known this would be the main topic of today's lessons. "Yes, I am."  
  
Dean grinned. "Cool."  
  
Lupin fought a laugh. "Thank you, Dean. On to more important things...Let's start off with roll call."  
He proceeded to call out the familiar names, obviously knowing them anyway, and then stacked the heap of  
parchment on his desk and looked at them all again. "This year, we'll be working with the most advanced  
Defense possible. I do believe you've all been taught about the Unforgiveable Curses?"   
  
Ron glanced at Harry in time to see his eyes go rather blank. He sighed, feeling sorry for his friend.  
Year after year, Harry had to go through the same torment in Defense class. Ron knew, for one, that HE   
wouldn't want to keep going over the way his parents had died, if he'd been in that position.   
  
"Good. We're going to be working with defending oneself from dark wizards. We've covered creatures, and  
I daresay you're getting your fill of defending yourselves from them in Care of Magical Creatures?"  
  
"Are we EVER..." Seamus muttered, causing some members of the class to laugh.  
  
"Well," Professor Lupin continued, "we all know that with the recent threat of Death Eaters--" Ron  
noticed Hermione shiver "--we must know how to properly defend ourselves, and those we love, to the best  
of our ability. Professor Dumbledore has asked me to help teach this class, as I was an auror during the  
first rising."  
  
Ron raised an eyebrow. Lupin had been an auror? Well, that was a new bit of information...  
  
The rest of the class was mostly discussion of what they were to study. By the sounds of it, Ron  
thought, EVERYTHING...From sending curses to blocking them, and what "cancels them out." He noticed that  
Hermione, who usually was quite eager to learn new and important topics like this, mostly stared at her  
desktop and didn't raise her hand very often.  
  
Just before the bell rang, Professor Lupin stopped by their table, and cleared his throat to get their  
attention. "Harry?"  
  
Harry looked up from packing up his supplies. "Yes?"  
  
"I'd like a word, if you would, after lunch? I've got a staff meeting now..."  
  
"Sure," Harry said. "Should I come to your office?"  
  
"That would be fine," Lupin said, and went back to his desk, packing up his supplies in his tattered old  
briefcase.  
  
Ron shot Harry a sideways look. "What was that all about?"  
  
Harry shrugged. "Probably something to do with the fact that I'm me, don't you think? Isn't it always?"  
  
Ron smiled grimly and clapped a hand on his shoulder. "Buck up, Harry. We'll all manage somehow...We   
always do, don't we?"  
  
Harry sighed. "Yep. Thanks. Let's get to potions, then."  
  
Ron turned around to see if Hermione was done packing. She had crammed all of her supplies in her bag,   
but was still sitting and staring at the desktop. "'Mione?"  
  
Her head snapped up. "Hm? Oh, time for potions, isn't it? Sorry..." She hurriedly stood up, dropping  
half her books in the process, and Ron bent down and helped her pick them up.   
  
"Are you going to be okay?"   
  
"Sure, I'm fine. Everything's fine. I'm okay," she said quickly, in a rather higher voice than usual.  
  
"You're lying," Ron stated quietly, stacking her books on the desk and straightening.  
  
She looked up at him. "I..."  
  
"We'll talk about it later," Ron muttered. "C'mon, let's get to Potions." He helped her up and they  
followed Harry out the door.  
  
  
Ron was the first to enter the dungeon where they usually had potions, and his mouth dropped open in  
shock. It was...bright...and airy...and so...so un-Snape-ish.   
  
The small windows near the stone ceiling had been opened, allowing the cool autumn air to filter into   
the dungeons, making it a much more fresh, less-dank atmosphere. Now everyone's attention had been drawn   
to this, and it wasn't until Dean Thomas cleared his throat loudly that they turned to see a rather   
short woman standing up in front of the class. Everyone immediately became silent and turned in their   
seats to face her. Of course, Harry, Ron, and Hermione recognized her from the train.  
  
Professor McLellan sighed, and gave them a half-smile. "Right, I'm your new Potions master, and though   
I never was the best at it, Professor Dumbledore insisted that I take the job for at least one year.   
Fear not, your beloved Snape will return eventually." She smirked. "He'll be back sometime at the end   
of the year, I think." She smiled sweetly. "I know you all must miss him most terribly..."   
  
The Slytherins in the room started muttering mutinously at this statement, obviously having caught the  
sarcasm. The Gryffindors, however, were positively delighted that Snape was gone for the moment. And  
Seamus Finnigan looked absolutely beside himself for some reason. He raised his hand. "Professor, where  
are you from?"  
  
She grinned and slid up to sit facing them on her desk, swinging her feet idly. "Dublin, actually."  
  
"Oh. That's where me Ma and Da live, too."  
  
"'S a nice city," McLellan said thoughtfully. "Well, this year we're just going to be doing the basics.  
I s'pose we ought to start off today with something fast..." She picked up a book from her desk and  
flipped through the pages for a moment. "How about sleeping draughts? You must have done that in first   
year...Can't be too hard..." She snapped the book shut and looked at them all. "Call it a review, until  
I can get Professor Snape's lesson plan."  
  
Every Gryffindor in the room was cheering inwardly, glad to be rid of Snape. Maybe seventh year wouldn't  
be so bad, after all...The Slytherins rolled their eyes, but obediently got out their cauldrons, making  
faces and muttering to each other. Malfoy, in particular, looked quite disgusted at having McLellan for  
a potions master. And then it occurred to Ron that she was also head of Slytherin house for the time  
being...But then, she would have had to have been in Slytherin...But that was impossible...  
  
Ron shrugged it off and he, Hermione, and Harry began working on their potion. Hermione seemed to have  
recovered from her state of nerves after Defense class, and was now running her finger along the list  
of ingredients in the book, telling Harry what to add, as Ron carefully stirred the potion.  
  
"Mr. Malfoy, what are you doing?" The professor's voice rang out across the dungeon, and the entire   
class turned to look. Malfoy had frozen in the position of getting ready to chuck something across the  
dungeon. Very slowly, he took his arm down and set the shrivelfig on the desk. Professor McLellan picked  
it up and looked at him. "You do know that these cause explosions when mixed with unicorn tail hair?"  
  
Malfoy just stared mutinously up at her, and she gave him a tight smile. "Obviously so." She glanced at  
his cauldron, in which a bright blue potion was frothing madly. "And what's this? Shouldn't it be a more  
purple-ish color?"  
  
Crabbe, who was sitting next to him, said, "I TOLD you we shouldn't've added so much dragon liver..."  
  
Malfoy promptly turned around. "Shut UP!" he hissed.  
  
"You know," McLellan said softly, and Malfoy turned around again. "Your father always managed to get his  
potions done properly. As I recall, he always got top marks." She met his glare squarely. "I doubt he'd  
be very impressed if he were to know that you cause trouble in this class."  
  
"You don't know my father," Malfoy spat. "And you never did."  
  
She crossed her arms defiantly. "Your father is Lucius Malfoy, your mother is Narcissa Mueren. I went to  
school with the both of them. Now, if you would be so kind as to turn around and fix your potion, I   
would be ever so grateful."  
  
Malfoy finally broke the staring contest and turned angrily back to his cauldron. Professor McLellan,  
apparently satisfied with this, resumed her path around the tables, checking on various students and  
answering questions.  
  
Ron sniggered and looked up at Harry and Hermione. "Well...THAT was interesting, wasn't it?"  
  
Harry was busy measuring out powdered spine of lionfish, but he grinned just the same. "I think I'm   
beginning to like Potions."  
  
***  
  
Harry knocked quietly on the large wooden door to Lupin's office, and was greeted with the familiar,   
"Come in!"  
  
Several stacks of thick books were now occupying the space where the grindylow tank had been, but other  
than that, the office still looked the same. Professor Lupin smiled at Harry as he shut the door behind  
him. "So, how've you been?"  
  
"Oh, well enough," Harry said, sitting in a nearby chair. "Sirius has picked out a house, and I'm going  
to go help him move in sometime over the Christmas holidays."  
  
Lupin smiled. "That's great. So, I take it he had help?"  
  
"Mrs. Weasley."  
  
"Ah," he nodded. "Well, that's probably for the better, knowing ol' Padfoot..."  
  
Harry grinned. "We'll have it in a state of complete chaos after about a week."  
  
"I don't doubt it," Lupin muttered, smiling. "Now, to the point: I know you've been through the   
Unforgiveables lessons far too many times for comfort, and I know you don't want to go through it again.  
So, I was thinking that when I went over them, you could go and study in the library, if you like. Do a  
research project or something, perhaps."  
  
Harry sighed. "That'd be great...You've no idea how...Well, how much I hate...Well, you know..."  
  
Lupin nodded. "I didn't particularly want to teach it. Dumbledore insisted, though. Said he needed as  
many capable teachers as possible, in case...Well, in case of accidents."  
  
Harry sighed again. "Why d'you suppose he's been waiting so long?"  
  
"Well, did you expect him to attack when he was weak? You may not have noticed it, Harry, but the entire  
magical community has gradually gone downhill. The dementors are still putting up a great show of being  
loyal to the ministry, but they're ready to leave whenever they're given the opportunity. Voldemort has  
many supporters, and not all of them are obvious, as we well know..." He grimaced. "At least Hagrid got  
to the giants in time..."  
  
Harry nodded, and both were silent for some time. Finally, Lupin interrupted: "Would you like some tea?  
I was just going to make some..."  
  
"Déjà vu..." Harry muttered, and Lupin laughed.   
  
"Yes, well..."  
  
"So," Harry said, taking the tea Lupin offered, "you know Professor McLellan?"  
  
Lupin visibly stiffened. "Yes. She...went to school with me."  
  
"She said in potions today that she knew Lucius Malfoy."  
  
Lupin sighed. "She did...She was in Slytherin, after all."  
  
Harry set down his teacup with a clatter. "SHE was in SLYTHERIN?"  
  
"Well, yes," Lupin said mildly. "Don't look so shocked..."  
  
Harry shook his head. "Sorry...I just didn't expect that..." He was quiet, thinking, for a few moments.  
Then something occurred to him. "So...If she knew you, then...She knew my parents?"  
  
Lupin sighed. "Well, yes...Your mother, in particular, thought a lot of her." Lupin sighed again, his   
face clouding over. "Well...I've not spoken to Fi-Professor McLellan in years, and I certainly did not   
expect her to be teaching here. So I was a tad shocked yesterday when I ran into her in the entrance  
hall..." He glanced at his watch. "Well, you've got Care of Magical Creatures in about ten minutes, and  
if you want to run up to your dormitory, I'd suggest you go now." He stood and opened the door for him.  
  
Harry had the impression that there was a subject the Professor was avoiding. "Why haven't you spoken   
to her in so long?"  
  
Lupin paused and stared vaguely at the floor. "Long story."  
  
Yep. He was definitely avoiding something. And Harry had a pretty good guess why. "Alright, then. Thanks  
for letting me skip the Unforgiveables..."  
  
"Of course," Lupin said, looking up at him. Well, good luck with the skrewts..." He smiled. "Sirius said  
you complained endlessly about them in your letters. Do you suppose Hagrid's still keeping them?"  
  
"Oh, I hope not..." Harry muttered. "I thought we were DONE with those..."  
  
***  
  
A/N: I HAVE PROOF THAT RON AND HERMIONE GET TOGETHER! *laughs maniacally* I just read a chat transcript  
from Barnes & Noble, and here's the question and answer:  
  
  
sammyohyeah: Is it just me, or was something going on between Ron and Hermione during the last half of   
Goblet of Fire? I love your books, by the way, and two of them I've read straight through cover to cover   
in under 24 hours.   
  
JR: Well done on the reading speed! Yes, something's "going on," but Ron doesn't realize it yet. Typical  
boy.   
  
  
*more maniacal laughter* I SO /KNEW/ IT! So THERE, H/H shippers! 


	10. Flying Lessons

Disclaimer: I own naught.  
  
A/N: Right, now I want you to keep in mind that Sudafed was responsible for the plot of these stories,  
okay? NOT ME. I took the medicine, and this bizzarre story popped into my head and it wouldn't leave   
until I started writing it all down. Now I'm stuck with it, and I know it's really odd, but bear with   
me, okay? Thanks...  
  
Lost - Part 10  
By Veralidaine  
  
The rest of the classes were relatively normal, save one minor alteration in Charms--they had an   
assistant teacher. By the name of Cho Chang. And, Hermione discovered, Harry still had it bad for her.  
  
Ron kept sniggering at Harry, and though Hermione tried to make him stop, spent most of the class period  
teasing him. Harry seemed not to notice, though, so Hermione merely sighed and went back to her note-  
taking, occasionally sending Ron a Leave-Him-Alone look, which, of course, he ignored.  
  
After class, Harry stopped to talk to Cho, and Hermione pulled Ron out into the hallway, elbowing him  
to make him stop laughing. "You leave him alone..."  
  
"Aw, c'mon, Hermione," Ron laughed. "He didn't leave me alone back in the summer before fifth year..."  
  
Hermione stared. "before fifth year? THAT long ago?"  
  
Ron went a bit red around the ears. "Well, he didn't."   
  
Hermione sighed. And to think she'd had to wait a whole year before Ron finally plucked up enough   
courage to ask her to Hogsmeade...  
  
Ron turned around, ignoring Hermione's giggling attempts to make him stop, and shouted, "Oy, Harry! You  
done yet?"  
  
"RON!" Hermione said, tugging on his arm and grinning. "Leave him be...He'll come down to dinner when he  
feels like it."  
  
"Oh, I know," Ron said. "I'm just doing this to annoy him."  
  
"Well, you're annoying ME, and we don't want that, now, do we? Come on, let's get something to eat."  
  
  
  
Harry arrived in the Great Hall about ten minutes after Hermione and Ron had, and looked positively  
thrilled with himself. He sat down across from Ron, who leaned over the table and muttered, "So?" (A/N:  
Think "Wink, wink, nudge, nudge, say no more, say no more," Ebony! Teehee...^_^)  
  
Harry broke into a grin. "I've got a date!"  
  
While Ron and Harry exclaimed over this, Hermione couldn't help but disapprove slightly. Cho was, after  
all, a teacher, not a student. Yes, she was only a year older than Harry, but still...Well, it wasn't an  
action Hermione would take, anyway...Hermione didn't know much about Cho, except that she was a very  
good seeker, and, apparently, was beautiful and popular and intelligent (according to Harry, anyway...).  
Hermione sighed. Well, she had Ron, he had her, and Harry had no one. So it was probably a good thing  
that he had a date. Maybe it would take his mind off of Voldemort's uprising...  
  
"So, when is this date?" Ron asked, grinning.  
  
"Tomorrow night."  
  
"Where're you going?"  
  
"Hogsmeade; she says she can get special permission." He paused. "What are you two going to do?"  
  
"Oh." Ron glanced at Hermione. "What d'you want to do now that he's abandoning us?"  
  
"Well..." Hermione shrugged. "I dunno...Play chess?"  
  
Ron rolled his eyes. "We'll figure something out," he told Harry, grinning.  
  
***  
  
Harry walked rather casually to the library. Only one more hour until he went with Cho to Hogsmeade...  
Only one. And he got to spend it in the library! Granted, he was still doing work for class, but at   
least he wouldn't have to endure another class period watching the clock as he listened to long, rather  
boring lectures...  
  
Harry yawned, sitting in one of the rickety oak chairs near a large window at the back of the library.  
He chose this particular spot only to avoid Madam Pince's staring--he honestly wondered WHY a woman like  
that would want to work in a SCHOOL if she hated having children around--and busied himself with a book  
Hermione had reccomended: "The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts."  
  
He'd never thought to read it before, and now that he was, he wondered why he bothered to waste his   
time speculating about all of this as he had for so long, when it was readily available right there in   
the library...Hermione and her endless discussion about books deserved more credit than they got...  
  
There he was. Harry blinked at his own name, which appeared more than once on the page he was reading.  
He skimmed through it and frowned--it made him sound like...Well...Something Professor Binns would   
lecture about. It was utterly unreal, there on the page. Just another chapter with famous names in it.  
It held no real meaning.   
  
And there was Voldemort.  
  
Son of Tom Riddle, the Muggle, and daughter to...Violet White, the witch. Harry wondered vaguely whether  
she'd gone to Hogwarts. There weren't any records, as far as he knew...He'd just have to ask someone. He  
didn't know quite why it was important to him, but it was. Maybe just so he could make sure Voldemort  
DIDN'T have any relatives left. Not that Harry didn't trust Dumbledore...He just wanted to be sure...  
  
For the time being, though, he stored the name Violet White in his brain and set down "The Rise and Fall  
of the Dark Arts," bored. There were only about twenty minutes left in class, and he really needed to   
reply to the owl Sirius had sent him...He'd wait 'til tomorrow for the records.  
  
And yet...  
  
"Madam Pince?"   
  
The librarian looked up sharply, not bothering to disguise a glare as she snapped her book shut. "What?"  
  
"Uhm...Are there...records of the students who attended school here?" he asked carefully.  
  
She eyed him beadily and nodded. "In the back, near the restricted section. Why?"  
  
"I'm doing a research project," Harry said quickly. Well, it was true, wasn't it?  
  
She stared at him hard for a moment longer, making him exceedingly uncomfortable, and then stood up and  
walked around her desk, leading him into the back of the library. There was a rather small side room   
full of, well, books, and in the center was a large wooden podium with what had to have been the   
thickest book Harry had ever seen. It was at least one foot thick, maybe more, and the worn leather   
cover sported a huge, fiery opal, about the size of the glass in a hand-mirror.   
  
Madam Pince blew a layer of dust off the top and looked at him. "It is indestructable, so I'm not too   
worried that you'll ruin it, but I do want you to watch what you're doing..."  
  
Harry nodded. "These are the records?"  
  
She sighed exhasperatedly. "Yes. Look." She turned to the book, looked into the opal, and said, "Potter,  
Harry."  
  
The book's cover snapped open, and the pages flipped violently as though being blown by a very strong  
wind. Suddenly it stopped, and when Harry looked closer, he saw his name, birthday, and his parents'   
names, all written in miniscule writing. The heading at the top of the page was "Magical Births--1980"  
  
Madam Pince cleared her throat, and Harry, startled, looked up at her. "I'll check back with you in a  
few moments. Don't touch anything--just say the name and it will find it." And with that she scurried  
out of the room.  
  
Harry turned back to the book. "Weasley, Ron."  
  
The pages flipped for a few seconds, and Ron's name came up, next to October 4, and Molly Connor and   
Arthur Weasley.   
  
"Granger, Hermione." September 19, Cassandra Johnson and Paul Granger.   
  
He thought for a moment. "Riddle, Tom." December 31, Violet White and Tom Riddle.  
  
"Violet White." December 7, Elise Corren and Fred White.  
  
"Fred White." February 18, Mary Kelley and Albert White.  
  
"Albert White." Nothing.  
  
"Okay...Mary Kelley, then." May 8, Alice Burns and Johnathan Ellis.  
  
This went on for some time as Harry kept notes on a spare bit of parchment, drawing up a sort of family  
tree. Finally, he got to Johnathan Ellis' parents, Margaret and Tom, and yet there was no record of any  
other siblings of Johnathan, who was about as far back as Harry could get without suffering severe   
confusion. Dumbledore had done all this--why was he bothering? But then something occurred to him: What  
if Voldemort's only living relative was a Muggle? No one would ever know that they were related, really,   
because magical records wouldn't show Muggles...  
  
Harry sighed and looked down at the book. Well, it was something, anyway. He had most of Voldemort's   
family tree written down, and now if he could just verify that that was ALL there was to it... "I wish  
you showed siblings," he muttered.  
  
The book, which had still been pointing to Johnathan Ellis, suddenly started flipping its pages   
violently to the very back, and here the heading was, "Graduated."  
  
And there, in the middle of the page, was Johnathan Ellis, and next to his name was "Siblings: none"  
  
Well, that was something.  
  
Maybe he was running in circles. He kept trying to tell himself that it was extremly likely that he was   
merely doing extra work--Dumbledore must have already gone through with all of this. And yet, there was   
something bothering him...And he wasn't sure why...It was as if something was crouching in the shadows  
of his mind, and refused to come out, and he couldn't shed any light on it at all...  
  
He glanced at the clock. About five minutes until his date with Cho...He needed to pack up his supplies.  
He left the small room that held the book of records and started shoving his various bottles of ink and  
rolls of parchment, all the while thinking hard...  
  
***  
  
"Okay," Ron said, shutting the broomshed's door behind him and shouldering his Nimbus 2001. "Right. Now,  
you can't very well be a witch if you can't even fly on a broomstick, can you?"  
  
Hermione crossed her arms, the breeze lifting her hair slightly in the dim evening. "I took flying in  
first year, just like you did. And Harry."  
  
"Yeah, only you never actually got more than four feet in the air, did you?" Ron said, grinning. "C'mon,  
it's not going to kill you..."  
  
"Actually..." Hermione muttered, but trailed off, obviously realizing he was ignoring her. Which he was.  
  
"Who knows?" Ron muttered after a moment of adjusting the tail-twigs. "You might actually need to know  
this someday. I mean, it could be important. What if it was an emergency?"  
  
"I'd Apparate," she muttered sullenly. "Ron, why--?"  
  
He'd shoved the broomstick into her arms. "This is much better than the school ones; it should be easy."  
He waited for a moment, watching her stare, bewildered, at the broomstick, and sighed. "You hold onto   
the handle--that's the long wooden part--and then you swing one leg over it and--"  
  
"I KNOW, Ron."  
  
"Then why aren't you DOING anything?"  
  
"I'm...I don't want to."  
  
"Scared?"  
  
"Y--No."  
  
He laughed. "You are, arent' you?"  
  
"No," Hermione said defiantly. "I'm not afraid. After all, it's only flying, and I've read loads of tips  
for it, after all."  
  
"Then fly."  
  
"No," she whined. "Ron, I don't WANT to..."  
  
He looked at her, smiling slightly and crossing his arms. "Are you going to make me ride with you?"  
  
"No, I--"  
  
He grabbed the broomstick back and sat down on it, raising it a few feet off the ground. "C'mon." He  
offered her a hand.  
  
She looked at him as if he were insane. "Ron, we'll be too heavy."  
  
"Nah," he said, grabbing her wrist. "Look, I'm not going to drag you up here--climb up."  
  
Hesitantly, Hermione climbed up behind him and wrapped her arms around his waist. "Ron, I really don't  
know if this is a good idea, I mean--"  
  
He ignored her babbling for a moment, then turned the handle of the broom straight up in the air--  
  
"Ron, this isn't going to work, we're too heavy and we'll faAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA--!"  
  
He laughed as that last word ended in a yell and she tightened her grip around his waist, almost cutting  
off his breath. He let out a whoop and did a few sharp turns, and then, grinning rather evilly (A/N:   
Give him a break, guys, he's a teenaged boy...^_^), took a dive from about twenty feet in the air,   
causing a rather high-pitched shriek to issue from behind him as he pulled away from the ground just in  
time.  
  
He finally evened out the flight at about twenty feet from the ground, refraining from dives and loop-  
the-loops. Being too high to crash into anything, he turned around slightly and glanced at the top of   
Hermione's head. "You okay?"  
  
She looked up as he turned back around to steer. "I'm...I'm okay...That was..." He felt her shudder  
slightly. "That was...fairly amazing."  
  
"Oh, just fairly? I'm hurt..." He landed rather hard, catching them with his feet and allowing the both  
of them to climb off. "Okay, your turn."  
  
"What? No, Ron, I don't think--"  
  
"Aw, go on."  
  
Hesitantly, she took the broomstick. "I'll fall..."  
  
"No, you won't." She opened her mouth to argue, and he sighed. "Look, let's pretend it's an emergency.   
You can't Apparate yet, and Harry and I are going to die. The only way you can get help is by   
broomstick--"  
  
"Ron, that's just stupid. There is no situation where--"  
  
"JUST work with me here," he interrupted, grinning at her. "So you have to fly on a broomstick in order  
to save us. But you don't know how, do you? So now what?"  
  
"Ron, this is beyond idiotic..." she looked at him and sighed. "Oh, fine, then."   
  
She brought her leg up over the broomstick and gripped the handle so hard it made her knuckles turn   
white. She swallowed roughly and glanced at him. "I can't do this..."  
  
He grinned. "I'll borrow another broom from the shed. We can fly together."  
  
***  
  
"So, Harry," Cho said, grinning at him and pushing her shiny black hair behind her ears, "how are your  
classes?"  
  
"Oh, pretty good," Harry said nervously, trying to find some way of making intelligent conversation. "I  
like having Professor Lupin back."  
  
"Yes, he's nice, isn't he?" Cho said softly. Then she grinned. "Isn't it nice not to have Professor   
Snape teaching Potions?"  
  
Harry laughed, feeling much more relaxed. "Yeah, really. I don't know much about Professor McLellan, but  
she seems awfully nice, and she's not Snape, so I've got no problem with her..."  
  
Cho nodded. "So I heard you get to skip Defense?"  
  
Harry shrugged. "Not really. I get to do research in the library. That's about it."  
  
"What are you researching?"  
  
Harry thought for a moment. Was it...WISE...to discuss this with her? Well...She WAS a teacher...And he  
DID trust her, after all... "Vo--sorry--You-Know-Who's family. It just made me nervous..."  
  
Cho's face clouded over. "Yes..." she muttered. "I understand why it would..." She looked up. "Is there  
any living relative?"  
  
"Not that I can find," Harry muttered. "Dumbledore says there isn't, and he's probably right, it's just  
that I'm...I dunno...paranoid, maybe."  
  
She smiled lightly. "You're not paranoid, Harry. You've got every reason to want to check up on that..."  
  
"Thanks, I guess..." Harry said.  
  
Cho leaned across the table in a conspiriatoral manner. "So...Did you find anything interesting?"  
  
Harry shrugged. "Well, I traced it back pretty far..." He pulled the crumpled bit of parchment from his  
pockets and showed it to her, tracing his fingers along the lines, until it came to Johnathan Ellis.  
"This is as far as it went. It said he didn't have any siblings, but I wonder if that's wrong..."  
  
"Did you use the record book in the library?"  
  
Harry nodded. "Yeah..."  
  
"Well, that's never wrong...I don't think, anyway..." Her brow furrowed in thought. "Hmmm..." Suddenly,  
her face lit up and she snapped her fingers. "Aha! What if...Well, maybe not..."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Well, what if they were, you know, a squib, or something?"  
  
Harry shook his head. "They'd still be listed under siblings, wouldn't they?"  
  
Cho smiled triumphantly. "What if they were, like, given up for adoption or something, though? Wouldn't  
that legally keep them from being considered siblings?"  
  
Harry's eyes widened. "You know...you're probably right..."  
  
Cho grinned. "See? I'm not the mindless idiot most people think I am..."  
  
"I don't think you're a mindless idiot," Harry muttered, smiling.  
  
"Thanks," she said brightly. "Shall we get some butterbeer?"  
  
As Madam Rosmerta set down the tankards in front of them, Harry's mind was reeling. Okay, so if Cho was  
right--and it was quite likely that she was--then the living heir would be a Muggle. And unlisted. So  
Dumbledore wouldn't have known at all...But how on earth was Harry supposed to figure out who it was?  
  
"So," Cho said softly, interrupting his thoughts, "How's your friend? You know, the red-haired one?"  
  
"Oh, Ron's good," Harry said. "He's always worried about Hermione, though."  
  
Cho nodded. "Yes, that was rather odd, that whole thing about Hermione, wasn't it? I mean, why would the  
Death Eaters want her?"  
  
Something clicked in Harry's brain, and the thing that had been hidden in shadows suddenly was flooded   
in brilliantly bright light.  
  
And he promptly fell out of his chair.  
  
Hermione was Muggle-born. The other side of Voldemort's family tree was made up of Muggles. And Hermione  
had to have had some magic SOMEWHERE in her family, in order to have inherited the traits and become a  
witch... "Oh, God..."  
  
"What is it? What's wrong?" Cho asked worriedly, helping him up. "Are you alright? Does your...Does your  
scar hurt or something?" she asked nervously.  
  
"No, no, it's not that..." Harry murmured. "It's just...Hermione's Muggle-born, and..."  
  
Cho's eyes widened. "Oh...Wow...So that's why...?"  
  
Harry nodded slowly. "I think so..." He glanced at her. "You won't tell anyone yet, will you? I think I  
ought to discuss it with her first, don't you?"  
  
Cho nodded quickly. "Of course! Wow..."  
  
Harry slapped a few coins on the table. "D'you mind if we head home now? I'm kind of anxious to tell Ron  
and Hermione about this..."  
  
"Sure," Cho said amiably. "Madam Rosmerta! We're done..."  
  
***  
  
"That's it!" Ron yelled from across the field. "You've got it! Now, just turn the handle up a bit--yes,  
that't it exactly!"  
  
Hermione giggled to herself, involuntarily enjoying the giddiness, and the soaring feeling in her   
stomach. Without meaning to, she let out a little whoop as she soared upward about ten feet, making Ron  
laugh. "What?" she laughed, glancing down the field.  
  
"You're doing great!" he called. "But it's getting a bit dark, don't you think?"  
  
"Okay," Hermione said, gliding as gracefully as she could manage to the ground, and stumbling as her   
feet hit the grass. Laughing, she dismounted and jogged over to the broomshed, where Ron was storing his  
broomstick. She leaned hers up in its proper place and grinned at Ron. "Thanks for teaching me," she   
muttered.  
  
"Well, sure," he said softly, shutting and locking the broomshed door. "You were doing great by the end,  
you know."  
  
"Well, at least I don't have to constantly worry about how to save you and Harry if ever there arose an  
occasion where I could only escape by broomstick..." She giggled. "That was really lame, Ron."  
  
"Yeah, I know," he said, slinging an arm around her shoulders as they walked up to the castle. "But you  
would have, wouldn't you? Gone for help, I mean."  
  
Hermione sighed. "Ron, I would've gotten on the stupid broomstick regardless of whether or not I knew  
how to use it. I probably would have fallen flat on my face just TRYING, but..."  
  
He smiled and his arm slid down from her shoulder to her waist. "Thanks, 'Mione."  
  
She leaned her head on his shoulder. "Least I could do..."  
  
***  
  
A/N: Righty, then. I know it was a tad rushed and bizzarre and so on and so forth, but it is kinda an  
important part of the plot. Also, By the By, I need reviews more than ever now, since my self-esteem and  
ego generally have suffered greatly today. My English teacher basically told me I can't write, and my  
History teacher basically told me I'm stupid. So if you can at least confirm ONE of these as wrong, it  
would be appreciated ever so much...^_^  
  
~ Veralidaine 


	11. The Trouble with Cho

****

Disclaimer: Would I really be here if I'd invented anything good?

****

A/N: GinnyPotter, you underestimate me...That's all I'm saying. Read this part and you'll feel quite a bit better, I'm sure. ^_^ Don't count me out of the G/H fan club yet...

Me, Myself, and My Coffee: Okay, okay, okay...Sorry. It's just that I have virtually no self-esteem whatsoever, about anything, and it has intensified since I started my honors classes this year. I think that somewhere, in the back of my mind, I do actually like my work, but I'm afraid it's buried pretty deep down there. And I only used to ever write for myself, and this is sort of new to me, submitting my writing to others. So forgive me, I'll refrain from being pessimistic and self-pitying, okay? ^_^ Sorry 'bout that.

And Ebony, that was a positively nasty statement about our dear Kaiser *makes gagging noises*, but it made me laugh and it is most likely not far from the truth...

Guys, I am _so _sorry I didn't post sooner, but what with exams and guitar and my site deleting itself and doing…emm…_rather badly_…on my History test, I've been a bit busy with my life off of FFN (yes, I actually do have one). To make up for it, this is an especially long part and it's in HTML format. If this uploads properly, anyway…

### Lost - Part 11

### by Veralidaine (well, duh.)

Hermione woke up slowly, in the light-purple room, soft, gray winter sunlight streaming through the lavender-colored curtains, which were drawn shut gently. She sat up and slid to the edge of her bed, dangling her tiny feet over the floor, grinning to herself. That sense of absolute giddiness came about her, just _thinking_ about Christmas morning...What had Santa brought? Hopefully that set of Madeline L'Engle books she'd asked for...

She slid off the bed, adjusting her pajama pants (the pink ones with the little purple stars), and very carefully let the door creak open. Her little feet barely made any noise as they descended the stairs and turned into her parents' room. On one side, her Dad's muffled snoring could be heard, and on the other, a frizzled mass of brown hair was just visible. 

Hermione giggled and, with some effort, as she was quite small, climbed up on the large bed and stumbled across the mattress, trying to avoid stray limbs under the sheets. She flumped down between the two slumbering forms, shaking the bed, and both woke up with groggy groaning noises. 

"Hermione, sweetie, I think it's a bit early, don't you?" came her Mum's voice, rather muffled by the pillow. "What time is it, Paul?"

"Five-thirty," came the equally muffled and groggy reply. "Sweetheart, why don't you go back to bed for another hour or so—"

"Aw, Paul, it's Christmas," her Mum said, stretching and sitting up. "C'mon, we can get up early." She stifled a laugh as she took in Hermione's appearance. "Look at her, honey, she's obviously not going to be able to go back to sleep!"

Hermione grinned and bounced up and down on the springy mattress until her father relented and sat up as well. Then, with a cheer, she slid off the bed and tottered into the living room, her parents following behind, muttering something about making some nice strong tea.

There were the books, as expected, and a pretty china doll, as well as a pretty little silver locket, which, upon closer inspection, contained a picture taken the previous summer of herself and her parents at the beach one Sunday. Hermione had only been five at the time...She slid it around her neck and her mum did the clasp for her. 

"Thanks, Mum..." Hermione threw her little arms around her mother's neck, taking in the smell of roses—it was from the pretty-smelling bath oil she used. Sometimes, when she got the chance, she'd put a drop or so in her bath. Letting go, she proceeded to hug her father as well, giggling as he tickled her, and then let go to let her move on to the presents under the tree...

As she sat by the fire later that evening, flipping through _A Wrinkle in Time_, she couldn't help but think to herself that it had been quite possibly the best Christmas she'd had in ages. Not that she could remember much, being only six years old. But it had been simply wonderful.

And then she woke up.

Hermione sat up abruptly in bed, the smell of rose oil and the fireplace still vividly teasing her senses. She looked around, half-expecting her lavender-colored room, or maybe to have woken up next to the fire with her books...But instead she could see the dark red velvet hangings of her four-poster bed. In Gryffindor tower. And her parents were dead, and her house was burned to the ground...Even the locket was gone.

She was concentrating hard on refraining from sobbing—she didn't want to make noise. Hot tears stung at her eyes and began spilling down her cheeks, though she made no sound. She didn't want to wake Lavender or Parvati, or they'd be sympathetic, and she'd cry even more. But she couldn't just stay there...She had to get up. Where she had to go, she didn't know. She only knew she couldn't stay in her dormitory.

She padded down the stairs, trying in vain to ignore the horrible sense of déjà vu, and plopped down on the couch, shoulders shaking slightly. She'd not told anyone how badly she missed them. She hadn't wanted to worry Ron or Harry, or indeed anyone, and she didn't want sympathy. But she missed them so badly...It hurt so much.

It probably wouldn't be that hurtful if it weren't a few days before Christmas. There was to be a Yule Ball-type dance on Christmas. They didn't call it outright "the Yule Ball" since it was technically a tradition reserved for the Triwizard Tournament, but it was very similar, Hermione thought. Basically, all of Hogwarts above the age of thirteen was staying over the holidays just to go the stupid thing. Ron hadn't asked her yet, but she had a pretty good idea that he would. And hopefully it would be a bit less fitful than last time…

But that wasn't what concerned her right now. It was nearly Christmas, and her parents were dead. So she was miserable. 

She settled herself down on the couch and sighed, curling up and trying to be as small as possible. Maybe she could sleep out here, where she was away from the memories. Well, as much as she could be. She closed her eyes, her last sight being the embers glowing in the fireplace. And she drifted off to sleep again…

__

She was in her room again, an essay on Animagi in front of her, yellowish parchment curling up at the ends. Wait, this was familiar…

Crookshanks mewed quietly and leaped up into her lap. Hermione smiled, setting down her quill as she pondered the next sentence. Suddenly, the cat made a low, guttural sound and jumped off Hermione's lap, digging his back claws into her thigh as he did so. 

"Ow," Hermione muttered, examining the small cuts on her leg. "Crookshanks, what—?"

But the cat had promptly scurried out of the room and down the stairs. Standing up from her chair, Hermione followed him down to the landing, and then to the front door, where he mewed loudly. Curious as to why he needed to be outside at that particular moment, but not wanting to experience more scratching, she opened the front door and Crookshanks streaked past her into the night.

Hermione closed the door, curious about what exactly had prompted the cat to leave, but forgetting it as the phone rang. It was Auriela, a younger girl from the next block over, who Hermione had known for ages. Auriela was one of her few friends outside of Hogwarts, and apparently was anxious to see her after her trip to Spain. After a few minutes of the usual "how are you"s, Hermione invited her over, and then headed into the kitchen to investigate what was available for snacks. There was a light knock on the door. 

'That's Auriela,' Hermione thought. 'Well, that was fast…_' "Mum, would you get that, please?"_

Then, not thirty seconds later, she froze as she heard her Mum scream. And her Dad yelled, "Hermione! Get out of the house! NOW!"

Everything seemed to slow down, and Hermione sprinted out of the kitchen, ignoring the instructions she'd received. There were yells and screams coming from the other room, and pushing open the dining room door, she saw something that made her heart stop. There were at least a dozen Death Eaters, and they were pushing something heavy-looking out the front door and…laughing…

Hermione felt herself retch, and turned to run, but then one of them turned a hooded face and saw her, and she turned around and ran for the back door. But, of course, it had to be locked. And the lock had to be stuck. She could hear one of them coming up behind her and starting to yell a curse, and she screamed "ALOHOMORA!" at the lock, which promptly clicked (she had no time to marvel at the fact that she hadn't even used her wand), and she slammed into the door and ran outside into the summery night.

Yells issued from the house, and she could see flames dancing outside the windows on the second story. She turned back around and tried to run into the next yard to ask for help, but she knew the neighbors were out of town on vacation, so they wouldn't be there. The next house had a huge yard and was farther away, but she could make it if she ran quickly enough—but then, she couldn't run very quickly…She had to try. She set off, tripping over her own feet in fear and the kind of life-or-death desperation that must have been so familiar to Harry, but was almost completely unknown to her. 

She tripped, cutting her knee on a small, sharp stone, and then stood up again, ignoring the pulsating pain in her leg. She started to run, but it hurt, and she could feel blood running down her shin from the cut…She could still make it. She had to. But then someone lunged at her from behind and caused her to go careening into the grass, screaming.

Looking up, she saw a glint of silver in the shape of what she recognized as a hand. Hadn't Harry mentioned that Wormtail…?

She stopped thinking of it as the silver hand pulled out a long dagger. This was a surprise, as Hermione had merely expected the Avada Kedavra curse. Instead, she cried out as the hooded figure swiped the blade against her cheek, bloodying it, and stood up, looking down at her. 

She mumbled the only spell that came to mind at the time—a silly, useless, and most likely false protection spell—and the figure backed away, looking annoyed. He pointed his wand at her, sending a flame spell, but it only barely managed to lick her skin. She yelled again, extremely glad through the pain for the rather meager protection the shielding charm apparently offered, and watched as the Death Eater just left to join the others. He walked up to them, showing the bloody knife and murmuring something. Then he turned to one of them that was holding a burlap bag which seemed to contain a squirming animal of some sort, said something Hermione didn't hear, and then the entire troop Disapparated. And then Auriela showed up, about thirty seconds later (or was it longer? She couldn't tell…), looking panicked and afraid, and murmuring to Hermione as she blacked out, still murmuring that ridiculous charm…

Whimpering, Hermione sat up, blinking furiously as she tried to ascertain her surroundings. The couch, Gryffindor common room, at Hogwarts…_Okay…It's okay, Hermione, don't be stupid. You're back at Hogwarts and everything's okay now…For heavens' sake, don't be a dolt._

She'd been having this nightmare for ages, and no matter how often she went through it, it was always terrifying and horrible, and it always played all the way through in her mind, and no matter what she did she couldn't stop it, and she couldn't change it. Her dreams were haunted with the Dark Mark and Death Eaters, and her mother's scream…

She heard rather loud footsteps on the stairs and quieted her whimpering. She needn't worry anyone with this nonsense of nightmares…Although, this was not exactly something she'd just dreamed up. It had actually happened, and that made it even worse than the most horrific fictional nightmares.

Glancing over the back of the couch towards the staircases to the boys' and girls' dormitories, she saw a tousle-haired, yawning Ron. He stretched his long arms over his head, and froze in that fairly ridiculous position as he spotted her. "Oh, didn't know you were up. It's late—why're you still awake?" 

Hermione shrugged. "Couldn't sleep, I guess," she said, wishing her voice sounded less frightened. Ron had caught on; she knew he would.

***

Ron raised an eyebrow. He'd come down originally because he couldn't sleep. He'd gotten an uneasy sort of feeling in his stomach and decided to come down and ask the nearest house elf for a cup of tea or something. Mind, he often felt uneasy after Harry had informed him that it was very likely that Hermione was related to Voldemort. Hermione had taken it with a rather surprisingly calm attitude, but later Ron had found her crying out by the lake. 

He'd assured her that everything would be all right, and that he didn't care whom she was related to. After all, _she_ wasn't Voldemort, and neither were her parents. That had seemed to help a bit. It made Ron's blood boil to know all that she'd been through. Hermione had lost her home and her parents, was in top classes and expected to get top marks, had just found out that she might be related to possibly the most dark and evil wizard ever in existence, and now she was having to deal with Christmas without her Mum and Dad. From now on.

And now she was sitting, curled up on the couch nearest the fireplace, hugging herself for warmth and whimpering as quietly as she could manage. She obviously didn't want him to worry about her, but she was scared about something. Though, Ron noted, she had a lot to be scared of, really. She looked up at him, doing her best to give him a smile. "R-Ron, what are you doing down here?"

"I needed a cuppa tea," Ron said, letting his hands hang down by his sides. "You okay?" What kind of stupid question was that? Of course she wasn't...

"Oh, I'm fine," Hermione said, voice quavering slightly. Her lip trembled and she looked away.

So he just settled himself next to her on the couch and looked at her. "Feel like talking?"

She shook her head quickly. "Not…Not particularly."

He raised an eyebrow. "'Mione, you're shaking. You can't just keep it to yourself—please tell me."

She stared at him for a moment, as if deciding what to do at this point, and then nodded. "Okay," she whispered. He slid an arm around her shoulders, scooting closer so that she could lean up against him. She sighed deeply. "I was remembering...I was remembering Christmas when I was about six. And Mum and Dad." Her lip trembled, and Ron was sure she'd start crying. She wiped her eyes furiously, but didn't. "I...Ron, I just miss them. So much. And lately...it's been so hard to keep from crying, and I'm really tired of it all."

Ron sighed and leaned his head on hers. "I know."

"But that's not all." She seemed to be steeling herself up for what she said next. "I've been having these horrible nightmares…About the night my parents died. Over and over and over again. They never stop. And it's so scary, Ron, it's just dreadful. I can't stop it, no matter what, and it always is the same. And it scares me so much…" She glared at the fireplace, self-disgust evident in her voice. "And I hate that I'm scared. I shouldn't be telling you this. It'll just make you get all over-protective and I don't want to be treated like that. I can't have you two feel like you have to rescue me all the time."

Ron wasn't quite sure what to say to this. He knew that while Hermione wanted to be recognized as a girl, she didn't want the whole Damsel-In-Distress bit that came with it. Obviously she didn't want he and Harry to worry about her, or to get neurotic about her safety. He hadn't realized she had been having nightmares…She'd told him once about the horrible happenings of that night, but the details were left out, and to dream it over and over again had to be simply…well…nightmarish. 

Hermione leaned her head on his shoulder and sighed rather raggedly. "I'm scared to go to sleep, you know," she muttered, obviously having pondered whether to say this or not. 

"Well, you need to sleep. Maybe you should head back up to your dormitory…"

"No, I don't want to. I don't want to be alone right now." She shivered and he tightened his grip around her shoulders. 

"Well, I'll stay with you here, if you like." _Oh, as if you'd let her out of your sight now that she's told you all that, you great prat. She's right—you ARE a marshmallow. Just don't let on that you're scared for her or she'll get annoyed._

"Thank you," she muttered quietly. "But please…Don't go and tell Harry, okay? I don't want you two getting all…Well…The way you tend to get. Just don't. I don't need to cause any worry to anyone."

"Well, we have to worry. We care about you, as corny as that may sound."

Hermione managed a small smile and sighed. "Honestly, Ron, I dunno what I'd do without you two."

He smiled slightly and sighed. "Likewise…I hate to see you suffer like this, though" he muttered to the top of her head. "I wish there was some way I could help you, or make it easier for you. Unfortunately, I'm just me, and I can't. All I can do is…well…be me and try to make it a little easier, even if it is only a little. I may be contradictory and annoying, but I do love you." Hermione snuggled closer in response. "'Mione?" No response. She was asleep. 

Ron sighed, wrapping his arms around her, and closed his eyes, hoping everything would be better in the morning.

***

Ron woke up next to the now smoldering fire to a faint tapping noise on the window. Carefully removing himself from Hermione's grip and laying her gently back down on the couch, he stretched and let the owl inside. It was from his father, and as he opened it, a small charm fell out, followed by a silver chain. It slid into his hand like liquid, falling open in the process and revealing a picture of a small, bushy-haired girl he recognized as probably a five-year-old Hermione, and two smiling people who could only be her parents. Setting this aside, Ron opened the letter curiously.

__

Ron,

The ministry's been looking through the Grangers' house for any sort of clue as to why they were attacked, or for any belongings of Hermione's that might have survived the fire. Sadly, all we've come up with so far is this little locket—found it in the rubble. Judging from the picture inside, it's quite important. Please deliver it to her—I would have sent it straight to her, but I wasn't sure quite what to write in a letter for that sort of thing. I thought you'd be able to handle it more gracefully than I would.

Love,

Dad

Well. This was an interesting development. He wasn't sure exactly what to do about it—he was going to give it to her, of course, but he didn't want to get her upset right now, not after she'd been dreaming the night before about her parents...

He realized with a start that it was the day before Christmas Eve. He'd ask Hermione to the not-quite-Yule Ball as soon as she woke up. And then he'd go to breakfast. Yes, that sounded good. Maybe afterwards they could go play out in the snow—they had obviously acquired a good three inches overnight, and that added to the leftover snowfall from last week culminated in perfect snowball fighting conditions.

Ron was vaguely wondering what time it was when Ginny came hurtling through the portrait hole, a roll of parchment clutched in one hand, the _Daily Prophet _in the other, and a frantically scared expression on her little freckled face. After a half-second of wondering what on earth was wrong, Ron managed to find his voice: "Ginny!"

She stopped just at the foot of the stairs to her dormitory and turned to face him, looking somewhere between relieved and frantic. "Ron, oh, you won't believe this, Ron, it's just…Oh no oh no oh no…" She crammed the article into his hands and clamped one small hand over her mouth, brown eyes wide. Ron, curious and with a sense of definite foreboding, scanned the article.

**__**

Dark Lord Spotted in Egypt, Takes Hostages

Cairo, Egypt— Late Tuesday evening outside Cairo's Gringotts International Wizarding Bank, the Dark Lord appeared with what surviving spectators claim was a horde of approximately twenty Death Eaters, and attacked the building, taking several hostages in the process. Workers Sarah Connelly, Raj Patel, Abdul Eziki, and William Weasley were the four employees so far reported as missing. Local authorities aren't yet sure of the Dark Lord's motives for the attack, but investigations are underway and Britain's Ministry of Magic hopes to recover the hostages, but members this reporter managed to question refused to comment.

Ron promptly went into a fit of swearing. There was a soft noise over on the couch and Hermione sat up. "Ron, what—?"

"Dammit! Oh, for the love of—What are we supposed to—What of Mum and Dad—What the hell do they mean by _'hopes to recover'_? What the hell?"

He promptly flew into another spell of swearing loudly. Hermione curiously grabbed the article from his shaking hand and read it, eyes wide. "B—Bill's been taken?" she whispered.

Ron had now managed to calm down enough to only mutter under his breath, taking shallow, quick breaths. "My God…" He looked up. "Ginny…Ginny, you'd best owl Mum and Dad. I know they'll have read the article already, but…"

Ginny nodded, looking as though she'd gone into a sort of shock. "Right…" She vaguely waved the bit of parchment she had clutched in her hand. "That's what this is for. I'll…I'll go write home."

She slowly started up the stairs and Ron, suddenly dizzy, swayed for a moment and then collapsed into a nearby chair (which had been hastily directed there by Hermione's wand). She practically flew over to his chair and sat on the armrest uncertainly. "Ron, are…are you okay? I mean, of course you aren't, but…I mean…"

"I know what you mean," Ron said honestly. "I just…" He began another string of cursing, but quieted it at the cringing look on Hermione's face. "What…What are we going to do? I mean…"

"Ron…" Hermione sighed. "Ron, there's nothing we can do just now. We'll find a way, but as for right now…" She squeezed his hand gently. "He's not dead, Ron, or at least it's highly unlikely."

He refrained from making a bitter comment—this wasn't Hermione's fault. "How d'you know?"

Hermione shivered. "Well…I think I've an idea as to why Voldemort"—Ron flinched—"attacked that particular bank."

"Why?" Ron asked, genuinely curious. 

"Well…" Hermione said softly. "They tried my house, but for some reason I escaped. They tried your house, didn't they? And no one was there. They're looking for some way to get to me, and since I'm at Hogwarts, they can't as of now. Dumbledore put a special charm on the cottage your Mum and Dad are staying in so that Voldemort can't find them,"—Ron forgot to flinch over the name, as this last bit confused him; he'd not heard about this—"so he had to go to the only Weasley that wasn't staying in your house at the time, and wasn't wandering around Romania, unable to be found. He just is doing this to get to me. Or Harry. Or both."

Ron gritted his teeth. "Well, don't I feel like the fifth wheel, then. I'm just here to provide ways to piss you two off?" He laughed bitterly. "Oh, good, I knew I was here for _something_. Glad to know I'm useful." 

"Ron, please…"

He glanced back at Hermione and softened a bit at the pleading expression on her face. "Sorry, 'Mione…It's just that…Well, the least he could do is have some issue with _me _before he starts taking my relatives hostage."

"Ron, might I remind you that neither Harry nor I has any close relatives _left for him to take?_ He's set on getting at us somehow, and you're the only way…"

"That's…Well, don't get me started."

She shook her head. "Ron, I'm so sorry…This is all my fault…Mine and Harry's. It shouldn't have happened to your family; you had nothing to do with it. It's all because you know us—Harry and I. I just…I wish…"

"…we'd never met?" Ron finished. "What, that Quirrel hadn't ever let that great ugly troll in? That we'd never done our homework together or watched Harry play Quidditch or—or—or any of the trips to Hogsmeade? Or that first time we ever went to the Halloween Feast together? Hermione, I hate Volde—" He stopped and swallowed, but decided to go through with it. He closed his eyes. "I _hate_…Voldemort. I wish he'd never been born. No, more than that I want to kill him. I wish we already had killed him. It would make all our lives so much easier. Unfortunately, he exists, and for whatever reason feels that it's necessary to torture the three of us, as well as everyone else in his way. That's no reason to wish we'd never met. For heaven's sake, Hermione," he said, looking at her, "at least enjoy the few _good _things we've got…"

Ron realized he'd been sitting so painfully straight in the chair that it had cramped his back up, and he collapsed back into it, head spinning. Whoa, that was emotion. He wasn't supposed to display emotion. No way. _That was really weird…Oh, bugger, she's looking at me again. Oh, for the love of—is she going to cry? God, I ALWAYS mess things up…_

This last thought had been prompted by Hermione looking at him in an _I'm-Going-To-Start-Crying-In-A-Moment_ sort of way, but she didn't. She pulled him into a hug and whispered, "Thank you," into his ear. Ron hugged her back of course, seeing as he just couldn't help himself, but mentally he was scolding himself for showing so much emotion. It made him feel like a sentimental idiot, and he certainly didn't like _that. _On the other hand, this was _Hermione_, so it was okay.

"D'you want to go get some breakfast?" she asked softly, brushing his hair out of his eyes in a motherly sort of fashion. 

Ron shrugged. "I'm not particularly hungry, but I s'pose. I'm also not too anxious to see Malfoy; he'll have read the papers already, and—"

Hermione shook her head, interrupting. "Trust me, Ron, if Malfoy dares to even look at you funny, I'll hex him so fast it'll make his head spin. Or maybe I'll turn him into a ferret—I've figured out the spell."

Just the memory forced Ron to smile a little, despite the circumstances. "Oh, I'd _love _to see him as a rodent again…"

Hermione smiled lightly and patted his hand. "Well, let's get down to the Great Hall, then, okay?"

Ron nodded, standing up and feeling a tad better. "Right. Also, d'you want to come to the Christmas Ball with me?"

She feigned a look of surprise. "Why, Ron, that was almost…almost _dignified_." She grinned. "I'd love to. Now, you head on down to the Great Hall, and I'll go find Ginny and see that she's okay. We'll be down in a moment."

Ah, yes, Ginny. In his own panic, he'd nearly forgotten her, and now he felt extremely guilty about it. Hermione wouldn't let him come with her to comfort his little sister, though, so he decided to head down and find Harry. Privately, he felt Hermione could do a better job, anyway.

***

Harry choked on his pumpkin juice, thoroughly spraying the article in front of him with the sticky, orange stuff. _William Weasley? BILL? Oh, no…_

At that moment, Ron seated himself next to Harry, scowling deeply at the article. Harry glanced at Ron, worried that he'd not read it yet, but Ron nodded angrily and muttered, "Yeah, Ginny brought it up."

"Oh…" Harry wasn't quite sure how to voice how he felt. Okay, so far, Voldemort was responsible for countless innocent people's deaths, and this included his parents, Hermione's parents, and quite possibly Bill Weasley. He was beginning to get that sort of angry, lost, hopeless feeling in the pit of his stomach. Again, he chased it away, worried that it might drive him insane. 

He wasn't scared of Voldemort, really, but more of what he might do to Ron and Hermione, or those close to them. He was afraid for them, and for the few close friends he had. And he was so angry…It wasn't fair. And somewhere in there, he was aching from all the losses—especially his parents. It was such a range of emotions that he wasn't quite sure what to make of it, so he just buried it away whenever it surfaced, hoping (though he knew it wouldn't ever happen) that it would just go away.

Harry and Ron were both silent for a moment, but the peace was interrupted as Seamus Finnigan seated himself on Ron's other side and looked at them both, an uncharacteristically serious expression on his freckled face. "Uhm…You guys? There's…Uhm…an interesting rumor flying around that I thought you might want to know about…"

"What's that?" Ron asked in a bored tone, swirling about a half-inch of pumpkin juice around the bottom of his goblet.

"Uhm…"

"Well, spit it out," Ron said exasperatedly. 

Seamus, apparently having given up on the careful approach to this, looked at Harry, as he couldn't quite get eye-contact from Ron, who was busy glaring at his empty plate. "Well…They're saying over at that end of the table that Hermione Granger's…Well, that she's related to You-Know-Who."

Harry blinked. "What?" he asked, not quite sure he'd heard correctly. How on earth could they know that?

Seamus raised his eyebrows. "I didn't think it was true, but—"

"Doesn't matter," Ron cut in. "Where did you hear it?"

Seamus shrugged. "There was this Ravenclaw talking to us about it…Ackerly? Yeah, Stewart Ackerly. Why? It's not true…_Is it?_"

Ron and Harry had both stood up, ignoring Seamus' sputtering disbelief at what, apparently, _was _true. Ron beat Harry to the Ravenclaw table and almost immediately had a very nervous-looking Ackerly standing in front of him, wringing his hands. The third year was obviously unaware that the subject of the rumors he'd been spreading happened to have a very tall, very easily angered boyfriend. 

As Harry jogged up to the two of them, he caught a snatch of what Ackerly was saying (well, more like stuttering): "Honestly, I d-didn't know if it was t-true or not; I was just t-telling my friend Denis…He musta told ev'ryone else…"

Ron was looking supremely annoyed, and it was obviously frightening the other boy, so Harry spoke up. "Uhm…Well, Stewart, where did you hear the rumor?"

Ackerly, apparently very glad for the distraction, turned to Harry nervously and shrugged. "I heard it from a Hufflepuff seventh year girl—don't know her name—who heard it from Professor Chang. I'm sorry, I guess…" He trailed off nervously, obviously unsure of what to say.

Harry's stomach dropped about three notches. Professor Chang? _Cho? _But she wouldn't…Would she?

Ron was looking at Harry oddly. Not quite making eye contact with Ackerly, he nodded. "Just don't spread ridiculous rumors, okay? Oh, and sorry 'bout being so quick to judge…" He paused, looking somewhat sheepish. "Uh…I didn't mean to be so harsh."

"'S okay," Ackerly said slowly, sidling back to his seat and giving Ron a cautious glance.

As they walked back to the table, Ron muttered aside to Harry. "You told Cho."

It wasn't a question. Harry swallowed. "I…I sort of realized it while on that date with her. I couldn't really help it."

"Bloody hell, Harry," Ron said, in a kind of furious whisper, not looking at him. "What did you think you were doing?"

"What d'you mean, what did I think I was doing?" Harry whispered back, nearly as harshly. "It was Cho!"

"That's exactly my point!" Ron muttered, sliding into his seat. 

Harry did the same. "What is that supposed to mean?" he asked in a warning tone.

Ron crossed his arms defiantly. "Harry, look, I know you're all moony over her, but I don't care. I thought you knew she was the school's resident Princess of Gossip."

"She is not!"

"Harry, look," Ron said slowly. "I know this is _difficult, _but Cho and Dumbledore are the only other people who know. Obviously Dumbledore's not the one spreading this around the school, so that leaves me, you, Hermione, and Cho. And it wasn't me or Hermione, and I certainly doubt it was you."

Harry just stared at his plate, not really wanting to believe it. Hermione was going to be really angry. And it was really his fault. 

Suddenly, the hall fell silent, and Harry looked up. Hermione and Ginny had just entered, both looking confused at the sudden lack of noise. Then the whispers started, following Hermione as she curiously seated herself next to Ron in Seamus' vacated seat. "What's going on?"

Ron looked meaningfully at Harry, and Harry wanted to throttle him. "Uh…Hermione…"

All the first years, as one, got up from their end of the table and went down to the other side, as far from Hermione as possible. She looked thoroughly confused and turned to Ron, a questioning look on her face. Ron sighed loudly and Harry, grimacing, murmured what had happened.

Hermione's eyes widened and, resting her elbows on the table, she put her face in her hands. "Oh, for heaven's sake…" she murmured, sounding muffled. "No one will want to come within a mile of me now, will they?"

Harry was extremely annoyed as Ron slipped an arm around her shoulders and glanced at Harry tiredly. Oh, so this was _his _fault now, was it?

At that precise moment, the worst possible person decided to make an appearance right next to them. "Harry?"

Harry snapped his head up and looked at Cho, who was standing, oblivious to the chaos she'd caused, next to him. "Harry, you know how that Christmas Ball is coming up in a few days?"

"Yeah," Harry muttered, knowing all too well where this was headed. Cho looked at him expectantly, and he realized she was waiting for him to ask her. "Oh! Oh, Cho, I'm…Uhm…" He glanced at Ron, who was giving him a _Whose-Side-Are-You-On_ look, and then at Hermione who was determinedly not looking at Cho, and then at Ginny, who was determinedly not looking in their direction at all and was slightly pink. 

He sighed. "I'm really sorry, but I've already agreed to go with someone else. You know, since I thought you weren't going to be allowed, since you're a teacher…" he trailed off lamely.

Cho nodded brightly. "Oh, that's fine, Harry," she said, and turned, heading back to the staff table.

Harry cringed. He couldn't just leave it at that. He stood and jogged after her. "Cho?"

She turned back around. "Yes, Harry?" she said, smiling at him. Somehow, she didn't seem quite so pretty anymore.

"Uhm…Well, I think we ought to break it off," he said quickly, and Cho looked a bit surprised.

"That's fine, Harry…" she said casually. There was a short pause. "Why, though?"

"Uhm…" Harry paused, unsure of quite how to explain this. 

"Is there someone else?"

Harry sighed, shaking his head. "Why'd you tell, Cho?"

She looked highly affronted, and blushed. "Oh…Uh…Harry, I'm really sorry…I didn't think…Okay, well, I'll see you in class, then, okay?" And she turned and practically flew to the staff table.

"I hate this," Harry said hollowly, knowing full-well that no one heard him. He stalked quickly out of the hall. Once out in the Entrance Hall, he closed his eyes and sighed deeply. His life was a complete mess right about now, and he was getting tired of all these…complications. As if it weren't enough to have the darkest, evilest wizard of all time after his blood, now Ron was angry with him. And he was angry with Cho.

"Harry?"

He turned around, startled to see Ginny standing nervously a few feet away. "Oh, hi."

"Hi," she said softly. "Sorry about the whole thing with Ron. He's…He's very protective of Hermione, you know, and he doesn't mean to be a big git, but sometimes he just can't help it…"

Harry smiled slightly. "Oh, Ginny, you don't have to apologize for Ron. I'm not angry with him, really. More with the situation. And Cho. She said she wouldn't tell anyone…" He trailed off, rather uncomfortable discussing his crush of the past four years with Ginny Weasley. She didn't need this, what with Bill getting kidnapped and all…On the other hand, she seemed to be a much better listener than anyone else he'd thought about talking to. "Anyway…You don't have to take the blame…"

Ginny nodded. "Well, I know, but Ron…Well, he's really worried for the two of you, especially Hermione. She's _'on the verge of going crackers,' _apparently." Harry smiled at her Ron-imitation. It was pretty good. "I can't say I disagree…She's been really stressed lately, what with school and this whole Vol—Voldemort thing." She looked thoroughly proud of herself for saying it. "We're all pretty worried about her."

Harry nodded, scuffing his feet on the flagged stone floor. "So 'm I. I really wish none of this had happened. I wish…" He went ahead and said it. "I wish I hadn't even _gone _on that stupid date with Cho." He slid down the wall he'd been leaning against and fell into a sitting position, sighing.

Ginny was obviously unsure of what to say to this, so she came and sat down next to him. "Well, it's not your fault, you know, Harry…"

"It kinda is," Harry muttered, looking at his hands. "I mean, if I hadn't told her, none of this would have happened. And now Ron and Hermione are angry."

"No they aren't," Ginny said, shaking her head. "In fact, Hermione gave Ron the what-for after you left. Said he was being insensitive. Ron got all embarrassed then, because he didn't mean to be, you know. I expect he'll apologize to you before the day's out."

Harry nodded. "I was stupid. You know, I always liked Cho because she was older and a good seeker, and…Well, because I could, mostly. I didn't know her at all. What was I thinking, going and telling her something like that?"

Ginny sighed. "Do you have anyone to talk to, Harry?"

He looked at her, startled. "What?"

She sighed again. "Well, Ron has Hermione to talk to. He's even cried in front of her—but don't tell him I told you," Ginny said quickly. "Hermione talks to Ron, he talks to her…And you're sort of alone, when it comes to that. And I'm pretty sure you've got lots on your mind, what with Hermione and Vol…demort, and all the nonsense you deal with. I get the impression that you sort of…bottle it up."

Harry looked at Ginny incredulously. She was looking away, obviously thinking she'd said way too much. Harry couldn't believe what she'd said, though—she had him completely understood. "How…Did…You…?"

She looked at him, offering a small smile. "I spend a lot of time around teenaged boys, Harry," she said softly. "Trust me, you lot are as transparent as Nearly-Headless Nick."

Harry smiled. "Well…That's impressive." He paused, thinking. "I shouldn't have you worrying about me, though. I mean, Bill's gone missing and everything…"

Ginny nodded, smile fading. "Well, Hermione and I talked about it. There's nothing I can do right now, so all we can do is hope."

Harry sighed. "I'm sorry."

Ginny looked at him, a worried expression coming over her face. "Why on earth should you be, Harry?" she said incredulously. "It's not your fault!"

Harry shrugged. "No, but sometimes I feel like it is. You know, I can't talk to anyone, because I don't want to put this on them. This is my life, and these are my problems. No one else should have to deal with them."

"Still…" Ginny said softly. "Still, you shouldn't bottle it up like this…"

He sighed. "I just…Well, I don't want to go into it right now, but—"

"No, Harry, tell me," Ginny said decisively.

Harry stared. "You've got enough to worry about; you don't need my problems—"

"No, don't do that. Just…Tell me what's on your mind."

So, grudgingly, Harry did so. He told her about worrying about Hermione, and how he hated fighting with Ron, and how Hermione was related to Voldemort, and that Cho had told, and how he was angry with her now…How much he missed his parents and worried for his friends, and how much he despised himself for being the cause of such misery. And the entire time, Ginny listened attentively, offering nods and small comments in between.

Harry felt as though a tremendous weight had been lifted from his shoulders, and he drew a great, shuddering breath when he'd finished. "Now d'you understand why I've never told anyone?"

Ginny shook her head at him and glanced down at her watch. "Harry, you're impossible…Well, you've talked for two hours straight, and it seems to me that you needed it. D'you feel at all better?"

"Yes, actually, I do," Harry said honestly, glancing at her gratefully. "I'm sorry I've gone and put all this on you, Ginny, I shouldn't've…"

"No, Harry," Ginny said. "You've not gone and put anything on me. I wanted you to tell me all of that, remember?"

"Well…" Harry sighed, giving up on trying to apologize. "Thank you, Ginny," he said appreciatively. "I really do feel better."

She smiled at him. "If you ever need to talk again, just tell me. You don't have to keep it all to yourself, you know…" She stood up and headed towards the staircase leading to Gryffindor tower.

"Ginny, wait!" Harry called, scrambling to his feet and jogging after her. 

She stopped, halfway up the stairs. "Yes?"

"Are…Are you going with anyone to the Ball yet?" Harry asked, not quite sure what had possessed him.

Ginny shook her head, smiling lightly. "No, not yet."

"D'you want to go with me?"

Her eyes widened—whatever she'd been expecting, it hadn't been that. "Well…Well, of course, Harry, but…Aren't you going to go with…Parvati or someone?"

Harry shook his head. "No. I would…rather go with you, really…If you want to, that is," he added quickly. "I mean, if there's somebody else you'd rather go with…"

She shook her head. "No…No, there isn't. I'd love to go with you, Harry."

He smiled, greatly relieved, and still not quite understanding why he'd spontaneously decided to ask her. "It's just…I really…uhm…liked being able to talk to you, you know, and…"

She nodded, smiling widely. "Absolutely." She glanced at her watch. "Well, it's almost lunchtime. Should we head back into the Great Hall again?"

Harry smiled and let her lead the way.

***

A/N: Ebony, don't yell at me.

Okay, just FYI, Harry is _not _using Ginny as a last resort. I'm not sure where I'm going with that, but it she's not just a replacement for Cho. And Ginny knows that, too. Heehee…Well…maybe I do know where I'm going with this…J See, GinnyPotter, I've not betrayed the G/H supporters yet. (And I don't think I will, either…)

Anyway, this is probably the longest part I've ever posted of this, and it's in HTML, too, so I hope you enjoyed my hard work enough to review. That would be ever so nice.

The next part is the Christmas Ball! Yay! And that's where the _real _action begins…


	12. The Dance - Part 1

Disclaimer: I don't own anything but the storyline, and I don't _want _to own that…

A/N: Whew…I've been having quite a job of it, trying to find spare time to write in. It's all because my teachers are so homework-oriented. You'd _think _that with, what, eight hours a day they could squeeze in whatever they needed to teach at the bloody school, but _noooo…_Okay, if I don't stop ranting right now this will turn into a long essay on the bad effects of homework…

Okay, the next bit will probably be up soon (if you REVIEW). Enjoy.

Lost – Part 12

By Veralidaine (who else?)

Hermione had never been one to prepare herself for dances. As far as that went, Hermione had never been one to _go _to dances. It all seemed quite ridiculous to her, all of the soppy music and slow dancing, and the pretty little airheads giggling and dancing with the equally dim-witted prettyboys. Overall, Hermione would rather be reading.

The one time she had ever taken care to make herself look…nice…was during the Yule Ball in fourth year. That had turned out horribly, and as Hermione applied a light shade of lipstick (just because her lips were chapped, of course…), she tried not to think of it. This time, she was going with Ron, and he wasn't a clueless, insensitive, fourteen-year-old prat anymore. He was now a semi-clueless, relatively sensitive, seventeen-year-old prat. But she loved him anyway.

She sighed and glanced at her reflection. She'd managed to stop at Madam Avalon's Robe Shop in Hogsmeade and pick out a nice set of dress robes. Madam Avalon wasn't nearly as handy with fitting as Madam Malkin, and so the clothing there was pre-made and sized, which made for quicker, but not necessarily better-fitting, outfits. Hermione had seen a pretty, floaty material much like her periwinkle robes from fourth year, only in a lovely sort of deep turquoise color. They were the only ones left, and she disliked the plunging neckline, but other than that, they fit her miraculously well and she decided that she simply had to have them. 

Now, looking at herself in the mirror, she twirled her wand idly and wondered vaguely what she should do with her hair, which was currently flying about her head in a most annoying and difficult fashion. She jumped slightly and turned as the door flew open and banged against the wall. Parvati, long dark hair halfway up in rollers, scampered inside and started rummaging through her trunk. Hermione raised an eyebrow. "Need some help?"

Parvati looked up, just taking notice of Hermione's presence. "Oh. Hi. No, thanks, I'm just looking for—yes! Found it…" She pulled a small bottle of bright purple nail polish out of somewhere in the depths of her trunk and shook it gently, making a small snapping sound. "Want a manicure, while I'm at it?"  


"No, thank you," Hermione said quickly, eyeing her short, cleanly cut nails. There just wasn't much to paint. "Your hair looks nice," she said jokingly.

Parvati grinned and curtseyed. "Yes, it took me ever so long to get it this way; d'you think Dean will like it?"

"I'm sure," Hermione laughed. She turned back to the mirror and made a face at her own somewhat…lacking…hairdo. "Actually, I was just trying to decide what to do with _my _hair."

Parvati looked at her thoughtfully. "Well…It looked nice in fourth year, why not do that again?"

"No, I don't think so…I mean, I thought it looked nice, but I rather wanted to do something different." She twisted her hair back into a bun, then let it swirl down again to fall over her shoulders. Picking up a hairbrush, she tried to comb through the mess, but it seemed to have decided to tangle up on purpose. Hermione sighed loudly. "Well."

"Here, let me." Parvati grabbed her hair and, rather painfully, began braiding. When Hermione was allowed to turn her head and look in the mirror again, she had a sort of braided crown around her head, and grinning, looked back at Parvati. 

"Thank you."

Parvati shrugged nonchalantly. "That's what my mother always does to my hair when we go to parties. I find it rather tediously long and painful, but it looks nice."

"Yes…" Hermione agreed, looking at her reflection again. Parvati, apparently satisfied with her work, took out the curlers (which had, until then, been ignored), and headed into the bathroom to change into her robes.

*

Hermione attempted to ignore the look of complete awe on Ron's face as she practically glided down the stairs and took his arm. Harry just covered a smile at his friends obvious amazement and gave Hermione an approving nod. "You look nice tonight."

"Thank you, Harry," Hermione said, and turned to Ron. "You going to say something, or are you too busy gawking mindlessly?"

Ron lost the glazed-over look and shook his head. "What?"

Harry laughed. "And she's not even part Veela…"

Shooting his friend a quick, rather un-serious glare, Ron led Hermione from the common room and down the corridors to the Great Hall. "Harry's right, you know…You do look…nice…"

Hermione giggled inwardly and grinned. "Thank you, Ron. So do you, actually. The color suits you."

Ron shrugged self-consciously and straightened the navy-blue velvet. "Thanks."

The Great Hall had been decorated beautifully, with little blue ice-pixies flitting here and there, and holly and ivy strung in banner-like crisscrossing patterns across the ceiling. Mistletoe floated around the ceiling, centering itself just above unsuspecting couples, and the golden plates were piled high with the richest and most delicious delicacies. In one corner of the Hall, a stage had been erected, and several instruments set atop it, though there were no musicians yet. The students were all dressed in their finest, and some of the teachers had even dressed for the occasion. 

Professor McGonagall was rather grudgingly enjoying herself as she talked to Professor Dumbledore. The strict professor still had her hair in its tight bun, but she was wearing crimson velvet dress robes and a matching hat, and looked quite festive. Looking down the table, Hermione noticed the other teachers were dressed equally nicely. Professor Dumbledore was wearing forest green robes, and Hagrid was in what Harry had dubbed the "Hairy Brown Suit." Flitwick was dressed in navy blue robes that looked just a tad too big for him, Sprout was wearing bright gold velvet robes, Cho was wearing something silver and clinging, and Professor Trelawney had descended from her cave in the North Tower and was currently wearing a sequined purple thing. 

Professor Lupin was sitting next to Trelawney and looked as though he was trying very hard to look interested in whatever she was going on about. He was dressed in deep blue robes that looked relatively new (they had no stains or patches sewn in), and Hermione noticed him looking down the table towards someone at the opposite end as he nodded vaguely to Trelawney's prattle. Following his gaze, Hermione saw Professor McLellan, looking bored and using her wand to balance her silverware end to end into a sort of Eiffel Tower-ish thing, with the soup spoon crowning the top. She'd worn light, sea-green robes of a floaty material not unlike that of Hermione's robes, and was talking quietly with Hagrid as she constructed the cutlery tower (though he was doing most of the talking, and she most of the listening).

Hermione turned to examine the students' robes (she saw that Malfoy was once again in his vicar-robes), and noticed a green-clad Harry come into the Hall with Ginny. Waving, and wondering how Ron would take this, as he didn't know about the Harry/Ginny situation, she smiled and pulled Ron over. 

***

Harry grinned as Ginny waved Hermione over to them. Ron was looking as though he couldn't quite make up his mind as to what to think of this arrangement, but he kept quiet, whatever he thought. It made Harry nervous, to say the least, but he let the thought leave his mind as Ginny grinned prettily at him. She'd worn lavender silk robes that Harry had been sure must have cost quite a bit to buy, but when he complimented her on them, she told him that she'd sewn them herself, which left him thoroughly impressed.

"Ginny, you _made _those?" Hermione said, echoing the very question Harry had voiced earlier. "They're _gorgeous!_ You're my tailor from now on, okay?"

Ginny giggled and blushed quite a lovely shade of red. "Oh, don't…They're not _that _good…Oh, look at Professor Trelawney's outfit!"

Hermione laughed right out at this. "Oh, I know! Is she glittery enough, d'you suppose?"

While the girls began discussing the teachers' fashion sense, Harry turned to Ron apprehensively. Ron had one eyebrow raised and was looking at Harry differently—almost appraisingly. "So."

"So…" Harry echoed.

"I didn't know you'd asked Ginny."

"Well…I did…" Harry shrugged nervously. Then he took a deep breath. "Look, Ron, I know what you must think, what with the whole Cho thing, but I really did want to come with Ginny, and I'm not just leading her on, or anything, because she was really nice the other day—"

"Harry?"

"—and I wanted to take her to the ball, and she said yes, and she knows I'm not just taking advantage of her affections, because I'm _not_, and I wouldn't ever, and I wouldn't want you to think that I'm—"

"Harry!" 

Harry looked up at Ron. "Yes?"

Ron laughed loudly at him. "Man, you've got to relax. I don't think you're _taking advantage _of her, or anything like that. I just wanted to be sure you weren't…like…You know. I'm an older brother. Can't help it."

Harry sighed and laughed as well. "I know, I know…I just got really nervous. I dunno…I'm a best friend. Can't help that, either."

Ron shrugged. "'S okay. You didn't fuss when Hermione and I started going out. And she's like your little sister. So I guess we're even." Ron grinned and looked up at the staff table. "They're right—Trelawney looks ridiculous."

Harry sighed, relieved. Ron had approved for now. "Yeah, I know." 

Their heads both snapped to the far end of the staff table as there was a huge crash of silverware and Professor McLellan's rather tall tower of forks and spoons fell to the table as she laughed. A little blue pixy winked into view where the mess had occurred, and Hagrid, who was sitting nearby, looked delighted (if a tad disappointed at the lack of poisonous appendages). 

Sounds issued from the stage, and Harry and Ron turned their attention to the band, a group of witches with long, multi-colored hair, as they trooped onto the stage and picked up their instruments. They began playing, and Ron nodded in recognition. "Oh, yeah, they play this on the radio at home…What're they called—Oh, they're Cliodna. Something with Celtic Mythology—ask Hermione. She knows all about it, but if you don't want an hour long lecture, just be satisfied with that."

Harry smiled and glanced up at the staff table again as a fast-paced song came on. All of the teachers were rising from their seats and heading down to the dance floor, and Harry had a dreadful feeling of what was coming next. He felt a small hand on his shoulder and turned to see Ginny, staring at him questioningly. "D'you feel up to dancing?"

Harry shrugged. "Never been too good at it, but if you like…" He took her hand and they headed for the dance floor. Ron and Hermione were already at it, talking quietly as they did so and looking as though they were having quite a good time. Professor McGonagall had, to Harry's complete amazement, agreed to dance with tiny Professor Flitwick, and Professor Trelawney appeared to be attempting to convince Lupin to dance. Harry grinned apologetically when Lupin shot him a helplessglance. Hagrid was dancing with Professor McLellan, and they were talking about something which McLellan obviously did not want to, and she looked distinctly disgruntled.

Harry turned his attention back to what he was doing. Ginny turned out to be quite a good dancer (she'd not stepped on his feet once), and he'd not even had to think about what he was doing. For some reason, it was just easier without Parvati. Ginny was also looking at the staff table as they twirled. "Poor Professor Lupin…"

"Yeah, I know," Harry said grimly, watching as Trelawney took hold of Lupin's wrist and gave a feeble attempt at pulling him onto the floor. "Maybe we should go over and distract her."

Ginny nodded. "Okay, but not for long. Professor Trelawney creeps me out."

Harry laughed and agreed that it would only be for a minute, and they quickly danced over to them. "Hello, Professor Lupin."

Lupin gave them a tiredly appreciative glance and excused himself from an extremely annoyed-looking Sybil. "Thank you," he muttered, rolling his eyes. "You've no idea how much I needed a break from that. I can only smile and nod for so long, you know…"

Ginny nodded sympathetically in her motherly, Ginny-like manner. "Maybe you should ask someone else to dance, so she'll leave you alone." 

Lupin massaged his temples and sighed. "There isn't anyone, really. Everyone's dancing."

Ginny stood on tiptoe and glanced around the crowd. "Uhm…Oh, look! Professor McLellan sat down! Go ask her!"

Lupin opened his mouth to argue, closed it, and frowned deeply. "I…don't think that's a good idea, Ginny, I—"

"Why not?"

Professor Dumbledore had joined their little group, and Professor Trelawney, seeing that Lupin obviously wasn't going to finish talking anytime soon, seated herself grumpily at the table again. Remus shot the headmaster something remarkably like a glare. It was more of a threateningly intense look than anything, but it was enough that Harry would not have wanted to be on the receiving end of it. Dumbledore, however, merely smiled back in his serene way, eyes twinkling. 

"Headmaster, I don't think Professor McLellan likes to dance—look, she just sat down, and probably doesn't want to get up and dance again—"

"Oh, nonsense, Remus. I should think you, of all people, know how much our Professor McLellan likes to dance."

There was that look again, as well as—_blush?_ Harry wasn't sure quite what the two professors were discussing, but Lupin certainly wanted a topic change. "Headmaster, I—" Remus paused, looking for another excuse, as Harry and Ginny watched interestedly. "Professor Trelawney will be extremely disappointed if I should dance with someone just after turning her down. It would be rude." He looked quite satisfied with himself.

"I shall dance with Sybil, Remus, now go on."

"But—"

"Go on! You both are so hardheaded that nothing will ever get accomplished if one of you doesn't make the first move. And neither of you would, without the proper encouragement. Now go!"

With one last borderline-glare, Lupin stalked off in the general direction of McLellan's seat. Dumbledore, still smiling in that all-knowing way of his, headed towards Trelawney's seat. Harry and Ginny looked at each other, and Ginny grinned broadly. "Hm. I wondered."

"What?" Harry asked.

"Well," Ginny began slowly, "I've noticed that they're always sneaking looks at each other, but I think they're angry or something, because they never talk. They actually ran into each other in the hallway—literally, I mean—and they just sort of stared at each other in shock for a moment before scampering off in opposite directions. I dunno what's up with them, but I'm really curious now, after hearing that."

Harry nodded. "Sirius never mentioned…But then…I never asked him."

"Next time you write him, do ask," Ginny said, taking his hands and leading him onto the dance floor again, as Ron was shooting them curious glances. "I would like to know what that's all about…"

Harry nodded, and was distracted as the doors to the hall opened. He, as well as nearly every other student in the hall, turned to look as Mr. and Mrs. Weasley entered, followed by a few more ministry witches and wizards, and, finally, Sirius.

***

Ron, still dancing with Hermione, watched as the ministry wizards were greeted by Dumbledore, and led to seats at the staff table. His parents waved at him, to his immense embarrassment, and Hermione waved back, causing him to roll his eyes. Sirius set his cloak at his seat, and, dressed in rather stylish blue-gray robes, strode across the floor to Harry and Ginny. After saying something that made Harry blush profusely, he laughed and waved at Ron and Hermione before walking over to them, as well. 

"Hello, Sirius," Hermione said, smiling. "We didn't know you were coming, too."

He shrugged. "Well, it was sort of a surprise for Harry, but really, I just got the invitation yesterday anyway." He glanced around the room. "Ah. Pixies. Flitwick's work?"

"No," Hermione said, shaking her head, and Ron glanced at her. "Actually, Professor McLellan put them up."

Sirius looked confused. "McLellan? _Fiona_ McLellan?"

"Yes…" Hermione replied slowly. "She teaches potions."

For some reason, Sirius found this simply hilarious. "Is she here?" he managed, after laughing loudly for a moment.

"Yes, she's up at the staff table," Hermione said, pointing out the professor. For some reason, Lupin was leaning against a nearby wall, looking surly and indecisive. The sight of this made Black laugh even more. 

"Ah, Dumbledore's set this up, he has. I'm going to go say hello." And with that he strode off towards McLellan's seat.

Hermione shot Ron a bewildered glance. "What was that?"

Ron shrugged. "Dunno…Should we sneak over and watch?"

"Wouldn't that be _spying?_" Hermione said dryly.

"Yes," Ron said, not even trying to make excuses. They walked over to the staff table and carefully situated themselves near one of the stone pillars near the back doors to the Hall, so that they were hidden from view, but could watch and hear what was happening. Hermione gave Ron a reproving look, but dropped it as Black approached McLellan and, grinning, said hello.

A/N: Muahahahaha! Cliffhanger! Review, or I'll take two months on the next one… (Actually, I won't, because I already have it mostly done, and I couldn't help but keep writing at this point—even _I _was angry at myself for stopping at a cliffhanger!). Do you suppose it'd be okay for me to do part of the next chapter in Lupin's POV? Or would that ruin the way this story's been done so far?


	13. The Dance - Part 2, and a nasty cliffhan...

Lost  ****

Disclaimer: I own naught. Well, I own Fi, but that's it.

A/N: Sorry this is late, but I was so tied up by school and all the other general misery I have to work around. Not to mention writers' block. I know, the easiest cliffhanger to continue from, and I get writer's block. Ergh… Well, big hugs to Anne and Tali for the birthday cards. Everyone who's still reviewing this, my ego thanks you and wants you to go get a piece of chocolate.

Oh, and no Lupin-POV as of now. The big secret (*laughs hysterically*) will come out in the last few chapters. And heaven knows when I'll get to THOSE…

Oh, and _Fa A Bhialainn Ann _readers—Ebony Foxfire has just finished the next bit of the story, so she should be posting it soon—look for it!

****

Lost

Part 13

By Veralidaine 

Hermione shifted slightly to see over Ron's shoulder. This was, of course, a useless task, seeing as how Ron was a good foot taller than her (or, at least, from her point of view—she wasn't sure of the exact measurements, but she had to look up just to get her nose on the same level as his shoulder). From what she could see, Professor McLellan had been dragged by Sirius, rather unwillingly, to see Professor Lupin   
("Moony! Remus, my dear friend, look who I've just found lurking near the punchbowl!"). There was rather distant and vague discussion being exchanged between the two professors, while Sirius smirked at them in an annoyed fashion. This went on for quite a few minutes, both professors shooting Black dirty looks as they most likely discussed the weather, or some other equally exciting topic.

"…Well, this has been _just peachy_, Sirius, but I really need to get some marking done and…" Both Hermione and Ron practically fell over each other in their scramble to get out of McLellan's view as she headed in the general direction of the doors next to their hiding place. 

"But it's _Christmas_!" Sirius called jovially, ignoring the fact that Lupin was massaging his temples, looking extremely stressful. He jogged to catch up with her and threw an arm around her shoulders. "Come sit with us! There's so much to catch up on! Well, maybe not with Remus—he's boring—but I'm not, and I'm sure you've got so much to tell us!"

"No, not really," McLellan said, starting to actually sound annoyed, and ducking out from under his arm. "Besides, I'm sure _Remus_ would be glad to chat with you. Of course, you're one of _the guys_; he kept in touch with _you_. So I s'pose there's not too much to discuss, then, is there?"

Sirius seemed to be lost at this point, and for once, shut up. McLellan smiled rather similarly to Professor McGonagall and, with a swish of sea-green robes, had turned and exited the hall. Hermione exchanged a glance with Ron, one eyebrow raised. Well. This was interesting. Hermione had a vague idea of what was going on—Harry had mentioned that Professor Lupin wasn't too keen on the topic of Fiona McLellan, but he hadn't exactly explained why…

"Hmm, that went well, don't you think?" Sirius asked, catching Hermione's attention and clapping Lupin on the shoulder. The professor shot him a rather fierce glare, and Sirius shook his head. "Oh, don't be so bloody sensitive, Moony. I was just trying to help."

"_Help?!_" Remus hissed, standing squarely in front of Sirius and attempting to look intimidating. He'd succeeded, as far as Hermione was concerned—Lupin wasn't muscular, like Sirius, but he was frightening in his own way. Probably owing to the fact that he turned into a monster once every month. "Help, eh? Well, if that's how you help, go help Voldemort instead. I'm sure he'd appreciate it."

"Voldemort's not in love with Fi," Sirius stated simply, in the same tone one uses when explaining something to a small child. 

Ron's jaw dropped and he caught Hermione's eye, a slow grin spreading over his face. "Did you hear that?" he mouthed, eyebrows raised.

"Of course I did," Hermione hissed. "I'm right here, you great prat, I—"

"And I'm not, either," Lupin said quietly, interrupting her. "Stop 'helping' me. Please." 

Sirius shook his head. "D'you two even know what you're fighting about anymore?"

Remus glanced at him tiredly and ran a hand through his now thoroughly mussed hair. "I try not to."

Sirius heaved a great sigh. "Believe me, I _know_ it was rough during Voldemort's first uprising. If there's anyone to know, it'd be me. After all, look at my _fascinating _history." He paused for emphasis and gave Lupin a meaningful glance. "So trust me on this. I know you guys had a hard job of it. Everyone did. But…That doesn't mean that you can't let it go. I mean, (and this is going to sound really soppy, but deal with it) if you two just…Just sat down and _talked_…"

"Thanks for the advice," Remus responded dryly. 

"Are you going to go talk to her?"

"Well, aren't you just the little matchmaker these days?" Running a hand through his hair again, he nodded. "I s'pose…"

The teenaged girl in Hermione wanted to sigh at this. This was good enough for the Muggle soap operas her grandmother used to watch…

Lupin, looking distinctly ruffled, swept out of the hall, heading towards the dungeons.

*

"Let's follow them."

Harry and Ginny only caught that much from Ron as they sneaked up behind him and Hermione, currently busy watching Professor Lupin stalking out of the hall. Hermione turned and hissed, "Absolutely NOT! Ron, they need to work out their problems, whatever they are. Let's leave them at it; we can't go spy on them…"

Ginny gave Harry a confused look, and Harry tapped Hermione on the shoulder, causing her to jump. "Hi. What's up, then?"

Hermione giggled. "Something to do with Professors Lupin and McLellan. I think they used to be…you know…"

Ginny's eyes grew round. "Really? Oh, tell me!"

Harry, ignoring the chattering next to him, raised an eyebrow at Ron. "What's going on?"

Ron shrugged. "Dunno, really. Just overheard part of it. 'Mione won't let me go spy on them."

"Well?" Harry prompted. "What'd you hear?"

Ron shrugged again. "Lupin's got love issues. That's all I caught." He ignored Harry's raised eyebrow. "Sorry for the vagueness, but I couldn't hear very well."

"Then you're obviously a very inexperienced spy. _I _could've heard the entire conversation from where you two were _hiding_." Sirius had joined the group. He grinned at Harry in his obnoxiously Sirius-ish way.

Harry sighed, seeing Ron look rather amused. The redhead crossed his arms. "Well, you were doing most of the talking, anyway, and we didn't care what you had to say."

"Then you missed out on a very interesting conversation." Sirius grinned broadly. "So she teaches potions, eh?"

"Yesss…" Hermione said slowly. "Why is that so funny?"

Harry was curious about this as well. Sirius ran a hand through his hair, looking thoughtful. "Well, I figured she'd end up as either a teacher or an artist of some sort—you know, a musician or something—but I never thought she'd teach _potions_, of all subjects. I mean, her arch-nemesis at school (besides our dear Snape—oh, are you lot s'posed to know that?) was the potions master." His eyes took on a gleam that reminded Harry rather unpleasantly of Fred and George. "She always liked Defense much better. She had an excellent study partner, apparently."

Harry raised one eyebrow in disbelief. Was he implying—

"Mind, Moony was the top of the class in that department." He grinned. "Lily used to tease Fi about whether she actually got any studying done in tutoring sessions with Remus…" Sirius seemed to be lapsing into a memory, which he did often. Harry assumed that this was a side effect of staying twelve years in Azkaban with nothing to keep your mind off of the cold and misery except for memories. As usual, Sirius ended it abruptly as he remembered himself, clearing his throat roughly and glancing around the room, eyebrows knit. "Well, anyway…"

"So you're saying Lupin and McLellan were…going together…when they were in school?" Ron said slowly, and Hermione cuffed him lightly on the side of the head.

"No, Ron, they were in the same gardening club." Hermione rolled her eyes. "Honestly…"

"I thought we'd already established that I'm slow," Ron said, grinning at her. 

Hermione grinned back. "Well, yes, but sometimes I forget…"

"Took me four years to figure out you're a _girl_, didn't it?" He grabbed her hand and she giggled, blushing.

Harry sighed. Another wave of romance was on its way, and he really didn't want to be there to witness it. Ginny seemed to realize this (or maybe she felt the same way), because she cleared her throat and, with a glance at Harry, inclined her head slightly towards the nearest table and punchbowl. He nodded and, excusing the two of them, followed her over to the table.

"Honestly…I'm very happy for them, but he's my brother and it's weird…" Ginny ladled a bit of punch into a glass. "Cute, but weird…" She looked into her cup thoughtfully and took a tiny sip. Then she laughed.

"What?"

She grinned at him. "I keep forgetting…Fred and George aren't here. You'd think, after nearly two years, I'd know not to test the punch to see if they've spiked it." She giggled again, pushing a strand of coppery hair behind her ear. "Ugh…Six older brothers really does get to me at times."

Harry smiled lightly, getting himself some punch as well and staring off into space. "Ah, can't be all that bad. You and Ron don't have a clue how good you have it."

He mentally slapped himself, seeing that Ginny immediately looked guilty. She almost put her hand on his, but then seemed to remember who he was. "Oh, Harry, I know, but…"

"No, no, no…" He held out a hand. "Not what I meant. I lapse into that occasionally. You've got me talking to you now, remember?"

Ginny smiled at him and pushed the same strand of hair, which had fallen back in her face again, back behind her ear. "I know…And you know, I forget sometimes…I guess people take what they have for granted, and don't even realize how wonderful it is, sometimes. Ron doesn't, anyway. That's why he gets jealous so often, of you, especially." She sighed, and the strand of hair fell back in her face again, ruining the depth of her comment as she glared at the coppery lock. "Oh, for heaven's sake…Can't a girl try to grow out her bangs?"

Oh, that's what it was, then. Harry had wondered vaguely what looked different about her, and now he wanted to hit himself for not noticing earlier. "It…It looks good, though."

Ginny beamed at the compliment. "Thank you." Finally giving up on pushing it behind her hear again, she pulled out her wand and, muttering a quick charm under her breath, had it out of her face in an instant. "I'm tired of looking twelve. I've always thought having bangs kept me from looking grown-up, and I'd always thought Hermione looked pretty without short bangs, and I'm rambling, aren't I?"

Harry shrugged. "Well, I think you'd look nice either way," he said awkwardly, blushing slightly. How corny could you get?

Ginny seemed to love it, though. "Thanks," she said earnestly.

There was an awkward silence, broken by "Hello, Potter."

The two of them looked up, and Harry's eyes narrowed. "What are you doing here?"

Malfoy smirked. "What fabulous manners you have, Potter. So that's how you managed to convince Weasley's little sister to come with you. And I thought it was merely her old infatuation with you resurfacing." Malfoy's lip curled, but there was something vaguely different about him tonight—he seemed somewhat…nervous? No, this was Malfoy. Malfoy didn't get nervous. As far as Harry was concerned, Malfoy wasn't human enough to be nervous, or any other emotion, for that matter. Well, maybe hateful. 

After all, with the black velvet robes and pale skin, he looked like more of a vampire than a seventeen-year-old boy. And it really annoyed Harry that poor Ginny was now crimson with embarrassment and wouldn't look at him. He sighed tiredly. "Look, Malfoy, I don't have time tonight. We were having a perfectly good time 'til you showed up, and frankly, I'm with Hermione on this—get some new material. Go on, if you've nothing new to say to us, go bother somebody else."

"Potter, I would, if I could, but I've got something—" his eyes flicked around the room, in that same cautious manner "—I need to discuss with you. Believe me, I'd be more than glad to leave you and the Potter Fan Club president here _alone _for the evening, but this is of utmost importance, I think."

Harry raised an eyebrow—he'd done a lot of that this evening—and crossed his arms. Well, whatever Malfoy considered important either really _was_ important, or was some elaborate prank. However, owing to the fact that both Crabbe and Goyle were busy stuffing their faces the next table over and not doing whatever part they'd play in some "joke," Harry was inclined to believe Malfoy.

Just this once.

He nodded and, throwing Ginny a wary but reassuring look, followed his enemy out into the entrance hall.

*

Ron grinned , pulling Hermione out the Hall door closest to them that led into the Charms corridor. "Ron, what're we doing?" she asked curiously.

"Just hold on a sec'…" 

He stopped by one of the huge, vaulted windows that looked over the twilit grounds and the falling snow and reached in his pockets. Pulling out a small parcel wrapped in crimson paper, he shoved it in her hands and then jammed his hands in his robe pockets. There was something else he wanted to give her, but that could wait a moment…

Blushing and stammering "you didn't have to"s, Hermione began tearing at the paper. "I've got your present, too, but it's up in my dormitory, and I was going to give it to you tomorrow…I didn't know you were going to give me this tonight…"

Ron shrugged, still grinning stupidly. Hermione pulled out the little black box and opened it, revealing a pretty silver ring with the opal set in front. Hermione looked simply ecstatic, and Ron's silly grin widened. "Erm…I wasn't really sure what to get you…It was my grandmother's, I think, and she gave it to me for some reason. Usually Ginny gets the jewelry, you know, 'cause she's the girl, but I think Mum told Gran that I fancied somebody at school and, you know—"

He laughed as Hermione threw her arms around his neck. She was squeezing him so tightly he was afraid his head might pop off, but he enjoyed it anyway. She pulled away, wiping her eyes, and Ron smiled. "Aw, now don't go getting all emotional on me, Hermione. It's just a Christmas present. It's not like I'm proposing or anything…" _Yet…_he added, mentally.

"But…" She said, sniffling but grinning at the same time, "It's the first time I've _not _gotten a book from you!"

That made him laugh. "I know, I know…I'm clueless." He set a hand on each of her shoulders and leaned his forehead against hers. "So you like it, then?"

"I love it," she said, slipping it on her finger and glancing up at him, her forehead still against his. "And, I love you, too." She giggled, and Ron raised an eyebrow. "You may be a bit dim sometimes, but you're still the sweetest boy I've ever known."

"Hmm. Thanks, I think." He straightened up and glanced out the window. He hated to make her unhappy now, and giving her the locket would do just that. His eyes flicked to where she was standing. She was pretty, he thought vaguely. Not in the traditional way, but in her own I'm-Hermione-And-I-Couldn't-Care-Less-About-Looks way. The fact that she wasn't trying to be pretty made her pretty, which basically made her a walking paradox. Of course, though, wasn't love itself perfectly capable of being paradoxical? 

__

Whoa, I'm done with deep thoughts for tonight, then…

He leaned over and brushed his lips across her cheek, making her smile, and then slid an arm around her shoulders. He'd give her the locket later; he didn't want to ruin the Yule ball for her. _Again,_ he reminded himself grimly. They were sauntering towards the door again when they heard voices and stopped, watching. Professor Lupin was coming up the nearest staircase, closely followed by Professor McLellan. The latter had reddened eyes, but was smiling, and Lupin looked extremely happy. 

Ron pulled Hermione behind the next corner and they watched. _Not spying, _Ron thought, grinning at the look Hermione was giving him. _Watching._

"Are you sure you want to go back to the feast?" Lupin asked softly, climbing the last stair and waiting for the other Professor.

McLellan nodded, eyes locked on his. "Aye, they'll wonder what we're up to, and we don't want Sirius spreading rumors, do we?" She smiled, biting her lower lip, and followed the also-smiling Lupin through the doors.

It was quiet for a moment, save for the music and chatter, dimly issuing from behind the closed Hall doors. Hermione sighed happily, and Ron rolled his eyes, nudging her lightly with his elbow, chuckling. "Oh, come on."

"That's sweet, though," she muttered, grinning. "They worked it out, whatever it was. This ball was a great idea—look how well everyone's doing!"

"It's very…" he flailed about for a good description "…mushy."

" 'Mushy'?" Hermione repeated, stifling a giggle. "Oh, Ron…Your excellent vocabulary does turn me on. You ought to consider becoming a poet."

"Oh, I know," he said, grabbing her around the waist and dipping her back, as if they'd been dancing. She laughed right out at this, and he grinned down at her. "And I do know many big words, of course." He pretended to look pensive. "Hmm…Let's see…Your eyes—no, too cliché…Besides, what rhymes with 'brown'?" She snorted. "No, no, wait, I've got it…" He shifted her to his left arm so he could use his right one to gesticulate. "Your hair—now stop sniggering, I'm trying to concentrate—is very curly and…Damn, what rhymes with curly?"

Hermione started sniggering uncontrollably at this, and of course, that got him laughing, too. He straightened up, setting her on her feet again. "I may be a bit slow at times, but I can still make you laugh."

"And you'll never know how grateful I am for that," Hermione said softly, grabbing his hands and locking eyes with him. "I think you deserve a kiss."

"Well, I wasn't going to say anything…"

*

"Potter, you need to get out of here."

Harry blinked. "What?"

Malfoy crossed his arms impatiently. "Just do it."

"Do forgive me for asking, Malfoy, but _why?_" Harry was trying to take him seriously, but the intense dislike he harbored for Malfoy wasn't helping.

The pale boy rolled his eyes, his lip curling again. "I can't…tell you…You just have to trust me on this one." Harry snorted. "I'm not joking, Potter, this is serious. You'll want to stay out of there tonight." His cool gray eyes locked onto Harry's. He gritted his teeth, looking as though he was about to do something horribly painful and unpleasant. Finally: 

"_Please,_" he spat,"do not go back to the ball."

Now Harry was concerned. "What's going to happen?"

Malfoy glared at him, but it was somehow less intense. It was…scared? _Malfoy? SCARED?! No bloody way…_ "Potter, if I could tell you, I would," he muttered. "But…I just can't, alright?"

"Death Eaters? _Voldemort?_"

Malfoy's gaze didn't waver, and he didn't confirm or contradict either idea. "Just don't go back."

Harry considered this for a moment. He could leave, but then, if something _did _happen, he'd feel guilty for his cowardice. He was sure something was going to happen—Malfoy did not _ever_ say "please" to anyone, least of all Harry Potter, and Harry didn't want to leave all the staff and students to be hurt or…killed…by whatever was about to be unleashed. Perhaps he should tell Dumbledore…

"Don't even think about it," Malfoy said, as if reading his mind. "You can't tell the headmaster."

"Why not?" Harry asked, now starting to get a severe headache. 

"They'll know I told." He swallowed roughly, gazing at the floor as if it held all the answers to their problems. "And frankly, Potter, I don't want to have to undergo their idea of punishment…" He paused. "Again," he added, softly.

"So it _is _Death Eaters, then?" Harry asked vaguely, pondering over the 'again' part, but not wanting to ask about it. This was, after all, Malfoy, and God only knew what his home life was like.

Malfoy's head snapped up—he'd still been glaring at the flagged stone floor. "Potter, I am taking a _serious risk _telling you this, and all I'm asking is that you keep your heroic _arse _out of trouble for tonight." He glared up at Harry, eyes full of malice. "And that maybe you take into consideration that I'm not as bloody evil as you're convinced that I am." He turned back towards the hall, but threw a parting comment over his shoulder:

"Your choice, Potter," he drawled. "But for the love of God and all Wizards, don't do something stupid."

*

Hermione smiled, enjoying the gentle weight of Ron's arm around her waist. He was still working on a "poem"—this time about her dress robes—but it was rather vaguely recited, as he was far too busy snickering at the enchanted mistletoe Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnigan had loosed in the hall. It seemed to have fixated on a couple of fourth years, who were, by now, very red and very giggly.

She grinned and noticed Harry entering the hall, looking extremely nervous. Malfoy had slithered in through the same door just seconds earlier, his eyes glittering in a very Snape-like way, she thought. She poked Ron in the shoulder, interrupting him mid-verse, and pointed at Harry. Without a word the two of them started walking in his direction, but before they'd gotten two paces, the enchanted candles and torches all blew out as what was obviously a magically conjured wind the ripped through the hall. 

There were many high-pitched screams that followed this immediately, and Hermione grabbed Ron's arm to keep him close to her. It was completely pitch-black now, and she couldn't see anything, nor could she ascertain what was happening. The screams grew louder as the time in the darkness increased, and she could hear, from the staff table, the teachers attempting to illuminate the room, but to no avail. 

She cried out as a hand clamped down over her shoulder. "Granger," a voice hissed in her ear, "you have to get out of here. Potter wouldn't listen, but I'm hoping that your reputed intelligence is, indeed, existent, and that you will. Come on."

Malfoy grabbed her arm and started pulling her—and Ron, as she was still clinging to him—towards the door. There was a rather large explosion from the opposite end of the hall, and red and orange flames sent flickering light upon the walls, causing more screams as the faint light revealed masked, black-cloaked figures—Death Eaters. Hermione caught a glimpse of Harry running towards them, wand out and yelling.

"Harry! HARRY! No, what—Malfoy, let go, I—_HARRY!_" Hermione struggled, but at this point she realized that Ron had left her with Malfoy and was running back into the room, towards his friend, and was pulling out his wand as well. "_RON! YOU BLEEDING IDIOT, WHAT ARE YOU DOING!?_" 

Malfoy still kept a firm hold on her, but she still struggled, yelling at him, too, but still watching the scene in front of her unfold. It was like a bad dream—one that you've had before and know what's going to happen, but no matter how hard you try, you can't run to help and you can't stop it. 

Hermione's eyes roamed around the hall in a panic. One of the Death Eaters had grabbed a struggling McLellan, and was shooting white-hot jets of light at any of the teachers who were attempting to save her. Harry and Ron were hurling curses and hexes at the nearest Death Eater, who seemed to be struggling with the decision of who to hit first. He raised his wand—Hermione screamed—and brought it down, directed at Ron, but Harry hit him in the stomach with some sort of hex. Still, a jet of light shot out of his wand and engulfed Ron. When it faded, he lay crumpled on the ground.

The Death Eater turned towards Harry and glanced around for a moment. The masked face turned towards the doorway she was standing in, and Malfoy pulled Hermione back out into the hallway, so she couldn't see what was going on. He ignored her protests, and wouldn't let her back in the doorway. Suddenly, with a huge crash, a blinding white light issued from inside the hall, and then all was suddenly—sickeningly—silent. Gradually, after a moment or two, faint moans and screams could be heard, growing louder every moment. Malfoy finally released Hermione's arms, and she toppled to the floor.

Climbing back to her feet, she stumbled into the hall. Smoke obscured her view; she started coughing, but that was the least of her concerns. Professor Lupin was lying in a grotesquely painful-looking way on the floor by the staff table, his body twisted at an unnatural angle. Numerous younger students were actually crying (Hermione vaguely thanked the heavens that the first through third years weren't allowed at the Yule Ball), and Hermione saw Ginny Weasley, kneeling on the floor, tears streaking down her face. But that had to wait—she ran to where she'd seen Ron fall.

He wasn't a pretty sight. He was still breathing, if lightly—the hex Harry had put on the Death Eater had most likely caused him to mispronounce whatever curse he was setting on Ron—but he was very pale and wasn't moving, and blood from a gash on his forehead was staining his face. Hermione choked back a sob and turned to see where Harry had gone. He wasn't there.

Hermione stood up, feeling woozy and sick to her stomach. She looked around the hall, at all the disaster and pain, but she couldn't find Harry.

Harry was gone.

*

A/N: Bwahahahahahahaha! *cough* Well, well, well. Nasty cliffhanger, that, don't you think? Review, or I won't write the next bit…


	14. An Interesting Twist... (reposted, due t...

Disclaimer: I own naught but McLellan ****

Disclaimer: I own naught but McLellan.

****

A/N: I had to repost this due to the fact that I made a glaringly obvious and stupid error. Bill Weasley is currently being held captive by Voldemort. I meant to type "Percy" instead. Gah. Sorry about that. I just always do a count in my head of the Weasleys…ANYway, sorry for those of you who this confused. It was an error in editing.

Don't I feel clever.

****

Lost 

Part 14

__

By Veralidaine

Ron groggily opened one eye, and then immediately shut it against the glare. Everything around him was white, and he wondered vaguely for a moment why it was that hospitals did that—it was stupid, really, because it was always so bright and painful when you first opened your eyes… He allowed his eyelids to part just ever so slightly and had a look round the room. Yes, he was definitely in a hospital. This wasn't the hospital wing at Hogwarts; that was for sure. His bed (white sheets) was surrounded by curtains (white), and he noticed that the hospital gown he was wearing (white, of course) was really rather uncomfortable and stiff. And his head felt like it had been splinched in an Apparation accident. Counting the episode with the Muggle burglar, it was the second time in the past few months that Ron had woken up uncomfortably in a hospital bed and cursed consciousness.

And then it hit him. The Yule Ball. Harry. The Death Eaters. That curse thrown at him…

__

Oh, bugger.

Well, now he had to get up, didn't he? He had a rather sick sort of feeling in the pit of his stomach, and could feel his head spinning and his ears starting to fill with a ringing noise—he wasn't sure whether it was worry or the fact that he was now standing up. His vision was not being cooperative, however, and he had to slump back down on the bed for a moment, holding his head in his hands. Okay. He could do this. He just had to stand up and—

He fell over again. He was starting to get really angry—the ringing in his ears was increasing in volume—when the curtains opened and a short, somewhat pudgy nurse skittered in, surveying him disapprovingly. "Now, Mr. Weasley, what are you doing?"

Ron didn't bother wondering how she knew his name, or who she was, or why she'd bothered to come check on him. "Where's Harry? Is Hermione okay? How long have I been here?"

The nurse tutted and, grabbing his ankles, lifted his legs back onto the bed (they'd been hanging off the side from when he'd attempted standing). "Stop your fretting and lie down. You'll give yourself a concussion."

"I will not _stop my fretting_—tell me what's going on!" He crossed his arms stubbornly and pouted at the nurse.

"And they told me you were seventeen," she muttered, rolling her eyes. She turned and pulled back the curtains, heading back outside to wherever it was she'd come from in the first place. "I'll send in the young lady," she called over her shoulder.

Ron sat and muttered grumpily about nursing school curriculum involving fussiness-training until Hermione peeped through the curtains. And then he sat up too fast and, with a moan, pulled his knees to his chest and rested his forehead on them. He felt Hermione's hands on his shoulders and looked up (very slowly so as not to cause a headache again) to see her face close to his. 

"Ron, lie back down."

"No," Ron protested, rather pathetically, he thought, as she pushed gently on his shoulders and he fell back on the rather stiff pillow. "Hermione, are you—"

"What were you thinking?" she interrupted, eyes round and a slightly hoarse edge to her voice. "You could have been killed! You nearly were killed, Ron! What was I supposed to do—you left me with Malfoy, of all people, and—"

It was Ron's turn to interrupt: "Did he hurt you?"

Hermione blinked. "No. But, really, Ron—"

"Well, what was I supposed to do? I mean, Harry was fighting this Death Eater, and I wasn't about to let him get himself killed, so I couldn't just stand there! Part of the reason we both made it is because we confused him, and…Hermione, do not look away like that. Don't." There was that sick feeling again. As soon as he'd mentioned that they'd both "made it," Hermione had sighed rather raggedly and looked away.

It was silent for a moment. "We'll have to call your parents," Hermione said in a rather strained voice, sounding far away. "They'll want to know you've woken up."

"Oh, stop," Ron spat, and Hermione looked at him somewhat fearfully. "Just stoppit. Where's Harry, then, if he's not here? What, did he die? What's happened that involves Harry and makes you spontaneously change the subject mid-conversation? You may's well tell me." He pointed vaguely to his head. "I can't get up and have a tantrum. Worst I'll do is faint."

Hermione swallowed hard, glaring at the floor, obviously annoyed by his sarcasm. "Well…We don't quite…know…if he's alive. They took him."

"They _what_?"

"Took him." She looked at the ceiling, sighing. "They shot that thing at you, and then aimed for Harry, but then Malfoy pulled me out of the doorway—I think one of the Death Eaters was trying to see me—and then there was this explosion, and then they were gone. With Harry." 

"It was Lucius Malfoy."

"What?"

"The Death Eater that attacked Harry," Ron muttered, picking at the white blanket covering him. "It was Malfoy's dad. I recognized his voice."

Hermione nodded slowly. "Then that's why he pulled me out of the doorway. And why he warned me about getting out of the Hall. He knew." She stared at the floor, brow furrowed, for a moment. Then, seemingly finding herself again, she looked up, shaking her head to clear it. "Malfoy doing something good. Wow."

Ron exhaled sharply and massaged his temples. "God, everything's just falling apart, isn't it? Everything's turned upside down. Next thing you know, Snape'll be handing out sweets."

Hermione sat down on the foot of the bed and pulled her knees up, hands gripping her hair. "For heaven's sake, I never imagined, ever, that seventh year would be like this." She sniffed, and Ron noted uneasily that she was going to start crying soon. "I mean…" she said, bringing her head up and staring at the wall. "I mean, I never thought that my parents would be killed, or—or that your house would be attacked, or that Harry would be taken, or that I'd be related to Voldemort, or—hell, I didn't even expect Voldemort to be _around _during seventh year…" Her voice broke. "I _hate_ it! It's _miserable_!"

Ron nodded sympathetically, sighing. "Hermione, none of us ever saw this coming." He took a deep breath. "And even though it is miserable and awful, I can't say I'd go back and change it. I hate to think of where I'd be without you and Harry. Yeah, maybe life's miserable now, but we've still got each other, right?"

Hermione looked at him with red-rimmed eyes. "Yeah, but if you didn't know Harry and I, your life would be better. You wouldn't be dealing with all of this rubbish. Your family would be safe…You'd still have a house," she added bitterly. "I'm doomed, always was. It was inevitable for me, and obviously for Harry. You didn't have to be put through this."

"Yeah, well, I chose to," Ron said tonelessly. "I hate to turn this into a sappy moment, but I'm really glad Neville lost Trevor during that train ride in first year. You can be a martyr all you like and tell me I'd be better off without you, but I'm not going to listen." He crossed his arms, ignoring the ache in his back.

Hermione just stared at him, arms encircling her knees, which were still pulled up against her chest. It was quiet for a moment, and then she cleared her throat softly. "Thanks," she whispered.

"No problem," Ron said quietly. 

It was silent for a moment longer. "So when do we get to go back to Hogwarts?" Ron asked, trying to find a loose thread in his quilt to pick at. He was unsuccessful. _Damn hospital sheets and their anti-unraveling charms._

Hermione sighed. "Once they've checked you over to make sure you're well enough." 

Ron nodded, but Hermione kept staring out the window. She looked preoccupied. _Well, of course she does, twit. Aren't we all?_

It was then that the hospital room's door burst open, revealing the entire Weasley family to see Ron. Ginny looked terribly shaken, but came over and patted his hand quietly, exchanging a tired look with Hermione. Ron noticed that, for once, they were all quiet. Even Fred and George, who appeared to have taken the day off from Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. Charlie, standing in back, looked grim-faced and tired. They each nodded at Ron solemnly, obviously glad he was conscious, but rather preoccupied as well. Even Percy had taken off of work to come visit, which was rare. It made it all the more obvious that Bill was gone, to have the entire family present, but missing one member.

Hermione looked around confusedly at all the grim faces suspiciously. "Has…Has something else happened?"

Mr. Weasley cleared his throat. "Here, Hermione. Read this." He handed her a copy of the Daily Prophet.

Ron's stomach dropped. He just knew it had to be some article by a Reeta Skeeter-ish reporter, or perhaps some other stupid thing Fudge did…But Hermione just stared at the paper, head shaking. She didn't look angry, exactly, just sort of astonished. Ron was getting nervous, and his head was hurting even worse what with all the tension in the room. "What is it?"

Hermione cleared her throat in the same way Mr. Weasley had a moment before and sighed. "Pettigrew's escaped." She held the paper so he could see it from where he was. The headline read: **Committed Murderer Peter Pettigrew Escapes Azkaban**. The article itself continued on about how Ministry officials were "completely mystified as to how Pettigrew escaped Azkaban," and that they were "hoping to recover the convict as soon as was possible." It struck Ron as very odd indeed that Pettigrew, who had turned himself in not six months ago, had escaped again. Surely the officials knew he was an Animagus…?

Ron slumped his head back on the pillow. Mrs. Weasley sighed loudly and brushed Hermione's hair out of her face in a motherly fashion, tutting softly about something to keep the room from becoming totally silent. Charlie shifted weight from one foot to the other in the corner and Percy cleared his throat. 

Finally, Ron sighed. "Hey, he was your rat, Perce."

*

It was very, very dark, and very, very cold. And wet, for some odd reason. Or was that blood trickling down his forehead? And if it wasn't blood, then what was it? Harry didn't know, and to be entirely truthful, he didn't particularly want to. The first thing he noticed—it was hard not to—was that he was bound to the wall by long chains clamped round his wrists and ankles, and he knew without even trying to look that his wand had been taken from him. The second thing he noticed was a not-so-dull ache in his forehead, emanating from his scar. It was extremely unpleasant, but the fact that he no longer had his wand and was in a dark, wet room had taken first priority in his mind. 

His eyes began to adjust to the darkness and he made out a dim shape which he supposed was some piece of furniture (_if this is Voldemort's place,_ he figured, _which it most likely is, then it's got to be some sort of torture device_), and he couldn't see any sort of door or window. 

"Then how did he get me in here in the first place?" Harry muttered to himself.

"There's a door. It's just hidden," said a soft voice to his left. Harry jumped and turned to see who it was. McLellan was chained in a similar manner as himself. She was seated dejectedly on the floor, head slightly bowed and hair matted with something wet. She was terribly bruised, and her lip was swollen and bleeding. Harry imagined he must be in a somewhat comparable condition, but that wasn't something he could deal with at the moment.

"Professor McLellan? I didn't know…"

"You were busy fighting off that evil git, Malfoy, I think. At any rate, we're both _completely_ buggered."

Harry's eyebrows furrowed in thought. It hurt his head. "Uhm…Why did they kidnap you, too?"

McLellan exhaled sharply through her nose. "They think I'll be useful."

Harry raised an eyebrow—that small movement hurt, too. "What d'you mean?"

"Long story, Harry."

Harry snorted. "I'm not going anywhere for awhile. You might as well."

"Good point." She sighed again. "I can speak with faeries."

It was completely quiet for a moment, Harry contemplating whether the torture or lack of light or both had gone to his professor's head. "You…talk to faeries?"

"Aye. 'S a useful talent, apparently." She fidgeted, feet making a grating noise on the stone floor. "They want me to use the fae to wage war on Hogwarts, basically. He's tried this before."

"What? He's tried—with you—wait a sec'—attacking Hogwarts with faeries?" Harry's head was hurting again. Worse than usual. Harry supposed it was from the sudden movement of sitting up a moment ago. He suddenly felt very tired and wanted to wake up and find himself in the Gryffindor boys' dormitory. Preferably everything from the Death Eaters onward would have been some bizarre dream. Well, nightmare.

"Yes. I was…sixteen? I think that's when it was. Gah, I sound like some old ninny. At any rate, this isn't the first time he's had this brilliant idea. I would think he'd know that I'd rather die than help him, but apparently he still thinks he can turn me." In the darkness Harry saw the outline of her face turn in his direction. "As for you…I don't understand why he's not yet killed you. Not to be morbid and pessimistic, but really…"

Yes, that had been bothering Harry, too. Somewhere crowded in with all the _other_ worries in his head. "Yeah…I dunno what he's planning."

"Can't be good."

"Nope."

It was quiet again for a few minutes. Harry shifted his sitting position, and the stony grating noise echoed wetly around the dark chamber. Something dripped from the ceiling and slowly ran down his face. Water, he supposed, but he didn't really want to know if it was otherwise. Either way, it was cold, wet, and unpleasant. He shivered.

"Scared?" McLellan asked softly, sounding concerned.

"No," Harry answered, somewhat untruthfully.

"Sure?"

Silence. "Yes," Harry muttered, not entirely sure of what to say at this point. He _was_ scared, but he wasn't going to let it show because…Well, he was Harry Potter. Harry Potter wasn't afraid of Voldemort, or death, or anything, for that matter. Harry Potter was supposed to be fearless, emotionless, brave…Harry Potter was—

Oh, who had made up all of this rubbish, anyway? Regardless of what anyone said or thought, Harry Potter was an ordinary boy, just trying to lead an ordinary life. It confused him, because it was like Harry Potter was two different people by the same name. Harry Potter was his name, and he of course knew that, but it took on special significance in the Wizarding world. People didn't just take his name as they would anyone else's. No, he was _Harry Potter_. It was hard to explain, but while everyone else viewed him as _The Famous Harry Potter_, Harry was just…Harry, to himself. When people suggested otherwise, it made Harry want to yell, "I'm not Harry Potter!" but he was, of course, so that was silly. But he wasn't what they thought of as Harry Potter. In Harry's eyes, he was just a normal, seventeen-year-old boy, trying to sort out his young life and to graduate school. Like all other boys his age. Unfortunately, he wasn't allowed.

And it wasn't like all other seventeen-year-old boys found themselves in dungeons, preparing to encounter their arch-nemesis who had attempted to murder them about six times prior. 

"It's not a crime, you know," McLellan murmured. She looked even paler now, and what dim light there was in the room shone on her skin. She turned her head and a tangle of hair fell into her face, obscuring it from view. "Everyone's allowed to be scared. Especially in this sort of situation."

"I know."

McLellan nodded, tossing her hair as best she could over her shoulder. It flopped wetly down in her face again and she exhaled sharply. "To be truthful, I'm not so much scared as tired."

Harry could relate to that. "Yeah," me muttered. "I've been dealing with this since I turned eleven. It gets really old, doesn't it?"

"Aye." She sighed again. She did that a lot, Harry noticed. "I s'pose it would get really tiring. Myself, I've had enough. I'd been fighting with people I care about, had to be potions master, had to leave Ireland…This year's been absolutely horrendous, what with all that nonsense. And now, they've chucked me in adungeon to make me use the fae against Hogwarts. The evil git just doesn't learn. I'm getting old! I can't keep it up forever…" She seemed to have calmed down now that she'd ranted a bit, and Harry nodded, staring into the darkness in front of him. 

She shook her head, and more hair fell into her face. She sighedand moved one arm furiously to brush it away, making her chains clatter together. "Oh, sod it. I shouldn't be going on like this—you've far more to complain about than I do."

Harry shrugged. "Yeah, but I don't like to complain."

McLellan smiled slightly and turned to look at him. "You know," she said after a moment, "you do have Lily's eyes. I know you've heard it before," she added as he raised the eyes under discussion to the ceiling, "but it's completely true."

Harry nodded, smiling lightly to himself. "Yeah, well…Professor Lupin said you were friends with my…with my Mum. At Hogwarts."

"And afterwards," McLellan confirmed. "Lily was—"

Both gasped as a burst of greenish light splashed into the dark of their dungeon room. The doorway was almost too bright to look at, but in the doorframe was the dark outline of a Death Eater's robes and hood. He pointed his wand at them and Harry found his wrists and ankles free of their binds. "This way," said a rather familiar sneering voice.

"It's Lucius' job, apparently," McLellan said loudly, "to retrieve prisoners. He's been doing it for awhile. Still no promotion, then, Malfoy? What, you've not done enough toadying to end up in a position like Wormtail's?"

Though Mr. Malfoy looked extremely annoyed, even with the mask on, he just pointed out into the stony corridor filled with greenish light. Harry obeyed, not sure of what exactly was coming. McLellan took her sweet time about it, though, and made Lucius prod her in the back with his wand the entire way. The corridors were completely stone—the walls, floor, and ceiling were moist, dark rock, occasionally interrupted by a torch with burning green flames. There was an omnipresent sound of water dripping, and some rather unpleasant sounds that resembled screams of torture. Harry flinched each time he heard one. McLellan had assumed a rather numb facial expression, and Harry wondered just what she was planning and what he would do if they killed her and he was left without an ally. 

Finally, the horrible walk through the winding maze of corridors came to an abrupt end at a large, black stone door set with emeralds. It reminded Harry rather forcefully of the décor in the Chamber of Secrets, but his mind was flailing about quite randomly, so he couldn't keep one thought pinned down long enough to actually think about it sufficiently. The doors opened, and Harry's scar began to hurt far worse than the dull ache it had been earlier. It was a dreadful sort of heat that made him feel as though his head would explode any second. It worsened as he stepped through the doors, and he stumbled. McLellan grabbed his arm and helped him stagger into the hall. As a horrible, hissing voice murmured something—it was quiet and Harry was preoccupied with his scar—he realized where he was.

Voldemort's throne room.

*

Hermione was exhausted, both emotionally and physically. Something about her life recently had completely extracted the energy from her body, leaving her with an ever-present feeling of complete fatigue. Since Harry had been taken, she'd become immensely worried and anxious, when she'd found out about Wormtail's escape, she'd felt like falling over. Then, as if all other circumstances weren't enough, Ron had been forced to stay in the hospital for another week due to severe head problems resulting from the Death Eater's curse (Fred had joked, rather weakly, that Ron had always had severe head problems, so maybe this had just set him right). So with all of this, she'd gone off of eating again. She was back to how she'd been over summer—sleeping constantly, never hungry, and looking like death itself when she glimpsed her reflection in a mirror. 

Parvati and Lavender were obviously concerned, but they weren't entirely sure what to think. Hermione vaguely guessed that they had an idea that she was in love with Harry or some other rubbish, and that was why she was grieving. At any rate, they avoided her as much as they could, occasionally shooting her sympathetic looks from across a corridor. People whispered as she passed, and she spent nearly every waking hour wanting Ron to recover so she wouldn't have to walk through the hallways alone, listening to the constant whispering and murmuring, and just barely hearing her name hissed in the numerous conversations that sprung up as she passed.

It would be another week before Ron finally would be allowed back at school. Hermione had managed to collect all of his extra work, but she hadn't quite the heart to shove it all at him immediately after he returned. She resolved to help him with it, and it was put on her list of things she would do later, which was growing ever longer…She found herself procrastinating much more than she'd ever allowed herself before. An Ancient Runes project she'd had a full month to work on still remained un-translated, and was buried under the clothes in her trunk, untouched since the day it had been assigned. Professor McGonagall seemed very concerned about her, but was wise enough not to say anything, and to simply give her some space. 

Basically, Hermione's day consisted of getting up just in time to get to class, regardless of how disheveled she looked; sitting unresponsively through her classes, sitting and staring at her plate at lunch, finishing her afternoon classes, and then going to sleep. If she was lucky, she'd wake up at about four in the morning and do some of her homework. Tired as she was, that was the only thing that she still felt some major obligation to, however weak. If she didn't manage to get to it at breakfast or late at night, she just rushed through it in the last moments before the chimes rang, feeling sick with herself for not completing it, but too tired to really care.

Ron at last returned to school, to Hermione's great relief. She was to meet him in the entrance hall after Friday afternoon's last class. It was a cold, miserable day during a spell of freezing, pouring rain that would most likely become snow before the week was out. Trudging into the entrance hall from Transfiguration (they'd been doing something along the lines of changing handkerchiefs into doves, but Hermione's still had had cross-stitched eyes, and Professor McGonagall had been most disappointed), she leaned back against a wall, hugging herself against the perpetual cold of January in a stone castle. 

Her hair fell into her face and she ignored it, staring with glazed-over eyes at the flagged stone floor. She wasn't able to concentrate on anything, and somewhere within the numerous numb layers of her mind, some part of her seemed to be fluttering its wings and trying to escape, but gradually its voice was drowned out by the noise of all her worries and fears. That fluttering was her old self, panicking about the lack of effort in her homework, and her lack of enthusiasm towards life in general. It was funny, she thought, that everyone had always assumed that she, as Hermione Granger, would be the strongest, most put-together person in their little trio. With all of her organization and shrewdness, it seemed that she would never have an emotional breakdown, or become depressed, or giggle and act like an idiot, like other teenaged girls. In reality, Hermione was rather fragile in the emotional department. Everything stayed bottled up, and then it manifested itself in not eating, sleeping all day, and a serious lack of alertness of anything important.

"Hermione?"

Ron was standing in the doorway, one of the oak doors held open by one outstretched hand. His fiery hair was wet and matted from the cold rain outside, and his skin was pale, making his freckles stand out harshly, but he was grinning at her just the same. She let her feet carry her quickly to him and she felt herself pulled up into his arms. He smelled like the cold wet of the storm outside, and his rain-drenched robes were getting her completely soaked, but she didn't feel like moving out of the doorway at the moment. It was nice enough just standing there with her face buried in his shoulder.

"Erm…D'you suppose we ought to move out of the doorway?" Ron asked, chuckling, and Hermione gave up with a sigh and pulled him in.

"Of course," she said, tugging his sleeve and closing the door behind them. "Sorry…"

He was eyeing her suspiciously, taking in the disheveled hair and pale face. She avoided his eyes, and he cleared his throat. "You've gone off eating again, haven't you?"

Hermione shrugged. "No…"

"Yeah, you have. Here," —he handed her a chocolate frog— "eat this. I picked it up on the train ride."

Hermione reluctantly unwrapped the chocolate, trying to ignore the loudness of the crinkling noise in the empty hall. The sound seemed to bounce off the high ceiling, and was only overpowered by the steady sound of the torrent outside. She popped the candy into her mouth and immediately felt the warming effect that it gave after an encounter with Dementors. Really, she supposed, she'd had the life sucked out of her, in a way. She was just so tired…But Ron was back, and she would try to pull herself together enough to devise a plan…(What, she was supposed to let the _MINISTRY_ try to find Harry and Professor McLellan?)

And as long as she was on the topic of McLellan…Professor Lupin strode rather slowly into the hall, looking, to put it simply, depressed. He'd had several nasty wounds, including a broken arm, a twisted back, and a nasty set of hexes put on him, but he'd recovered rather well at St. Mungo's, and Madam Pomfrey had managed to clean up the leftover bruises and cuts that were too small for any serious medical attention. He'd allowed the entire ordeal of healing him to go by without giving any sort of response. He seemed to be constantly deep in thought, and though he'd returned to his classes, often just assigned reading and stared out the window, obviously thinking, but also just…not there. Hermione felt badly for him, having witnessed (well, mostly) his reunion with McLellan, and the fact that they were finally getting along, only to have McLellan kidnapped.

He turned and noticed the two of them standing there, watching him. "Oh, hullo, Ron. You've recovered, then?"

"Yep," Ron said. "Same with you?"

"Yes," Lupin muttered, scratching the back of his neck. "Quite nicely, so they said." He glanced at Hermione. "Came to meet him, then?"

Hermione nodded mutely, wondering where he was going with this conversation. Lupin just stood there, staring at the floor for a moment, and in the awkward silence, Ron and Hermione exchanged a look. Lupin glanced up at them, finally. "Did you see the Daily Prophet a few days ago?"

"Yeah," Ron and Hermione muttered simultaneously. Ron made a face. "Pettigrew."

Lupin nodded silently, face unreadable. Finally: "Do either of you have any idea where…?"

Both teenagers shook their heads, and Lupin nodded, a deep sigh escaping him. "Right…I guess I'll just have to…Never mind." He shook his head and started off in the direction of the teachers' lounge. "Well, good to know you two are well-off. I've got a meeting in five minutes, though, and I daresay Minerva will be quite displeased if I arrive late." With a small smile and wave, he set off, leaving Ron and Hermione alone in the Entrance Hall. 

"Well," Ron said quietly a moment later, "he's not doing so well, is he?"

Hermione pursed her lips thoughtfully. "Well, it's not as though he's gone mad or anything; he's just constantly lost in thought. Lavender Brown had her hand raised for twenty minutes in class this morning before he noticed."

Ron shook his head. "What a mess."

"Yep."

"Is it about time for dinner, then?" Ron asked, punctuating this remark with a loud growl from his stomach.

Hermione herself found that she was a bit hungry. A bit. "Yeah. Come on, let's head towards the hall. I think they're doing shepherd's pie tonight."

__

It was very cold and dark and wet. Hermione shivered, hugging herself, and curled up in a little ball on the stone floor. What was this? Last she'd checked, she was warm and safe in her bed, reading…Well, then, this has to be a dream.

Yes, that's it._ She stood carefully, noticing the cold under her hands as she pushed herself up. The cold was somewhat surprising. She'd been cold before, obviously. Winter was cold, of course, but this was…frigid…in a way that was frightening and intense. _

Suddenly, green light filled the entire place, illuminating long-neglected chandeliers hanging by mold-covered chains. The floor was green-tinged stone, wet and cold with condensation, like that of inside a cave. But these were minor background details. In a horrid emerald-set thrown sat a horrible bald thing with snake-like eyes and slits for nostrils…Harry had told Hermione, of course, what Voldemort looked like. She'd thought he sounded simply horrifying. Well, actually seeing him was far worse, and Hermione backed into a cold, wet wall, gasping and wanting desperately to scream, only to find that her throat had frozen in fear.

There were two people in front of the throne—she squinted and recognized them as Harry and McLellan. She wanted to yell to them, but once again, her throat wouldn't cooperate, and she was too distracted by the horrible creature sitting on the throne. Somewhere deep inside her, there was another feeling; one of hate, for all he'd done to her, her family, Harry, and everyone else in the Wizarding world…But that was ignored for the time being. Right now, she was too busy being scared out of her wits.

"Last chance, McLellan. Will you do this willingly, or do I have to force you?"

"Yeh can't farce me," McLellan said, accent sounding particularly strong in her anger. She swallowed hard. "I'll die fairst."

Voldemort just laughed. Then he turned to Harry. "Now, Potter, what am I to do with you? Hold your tongue, Mudblood," he said to McLellan, who was trying to mutter something to Harry. "You may be wondering why you're still alive. Well, you'll die in due time. I need you in my possession in order to distill the confidence of the Ministry and its allies. I want Dumbledore to realize he has been beaten. And then I'll kill you."

"Thanks for the advance warning," McLellan said dryly. 

"Silence yourself, Mudblood," Voldemort said icily.

"Since when do you get off calling me Mudblood?" McLellan retorted, hands on her hips. "As I recall, your father was—"

"ENOUGH!"

McLellan cried out as a jet of red light hit her, sending her flailing back toward the wall Hermione was standing against, hitting it with a loud thumping noise. Hermione gasped and tried to help the professor up, only to have her hand pass through as if she were a ghost. Voldemort let out a nasty chuckle and turned to Harry again. "Oh, do stop looking so expectant. What, you thought I'd reveal my whole diabolical scheme to you?" He sniggered and Harry looked ill. "No, boy, I don't do that."

McLellan sat up on the floor with a groan, and Hermione glanced down at her. She had a nasty bruise on her forehead from where it had connected with the stone floor, but she shook her head and glanced at the emerald throne. "Voldemort," she said hoarsely, "leave him alone."

"Oh, now, my dear Mudblood, do you want_ to be thrown against the wall again, or are you just stupid?" Voldemort glanced at Harry in a horribly calculating manner, but then turned back to McLellan. "You know, Mudblood, I could really use your powers. The hard part is getting you to cooperate."_

"Yes, 't'would be, due to the fact that I loathe you."

"Yes, well. So I've been thinking…Do I really need Potter, here? What does he really_ mean to me, in the grand scheme of things? I mean," he chuckled, "they already think he's dead, correct? So they aren't going to give any more of a reaction. May as well kill him now and not take any chances, don't you think?"_

"You monster."

"Yes, well, I wouldn't talk, if I were you, McLellan. Now, as I was saying, what's the point of keeping this scrawny little creature around any longer than absolutely necessary?" He cleared his throat loudly, pointing his wand tip at Harry. "Avada Kedavra_!"_

"NO!" McLellan and Hermione both shrieked at the same time, Hermione covering her mouth with one hand and McLellan scrambling to her feet and hurrying over to where Voldemort sat, laughing. The form that was Harry was collapsed in the floor, not moving, and Hermione felt her vision spinning and a horrible twisting and sickness in her stomach. McLellan hurried over to Harry and knelt next to him, looking shell-shocked.

Suddenly, to everyone in attendance's obvious shock, Harry moved. He coughed as though he'd had the wind knocked rather painfully out of him, and sat back up again, looking terribly shaken, but very alive. Voldemort looked about ready to fall out of his throne.

"WHAT_?!"_

McLellan grabbed Harry in a huge hug, and the boy just looked completely mystified, and absolutely terrified. Voldemort just gaped. "What…Why didn't…?"

Hermione's knees gave way and she slumped down on the stone floor, gasping for breath, tears starting to trickle down her cheeks. Her mind went rather numb from confusion and shock.

McLellan looked up at Voldemort triumphantly, still holding Harry tightly, though Harry simply looked confused and rather shocked. "You know what this means, then, don't you?" she asked coolly, flipping her hair out of her face. "You can't kill him."

"Then I'm not the last…But then…" It was very odd, seeing something so snake-like and hideous look so confused. Then: "Of course!" Voldemort stood suddenly at his throne. "Of course…Why didn't I think of it before…? I'd completely forgotten." He sneered, nodding his head contemplatively. "I'd completely forgotten about the girl."

Hermione felt her insides go cold. He meant her.

"I'd heard a rumor she was it, but I didn't believe it. Well, this just proves it. Wormtail failed to obtain her earlier, and now he'll simply have to succeed."

Looking extremely annoyed, the Dark Lord stood and, with a wave of his hand, sent both McLellan and Harry tumbling painfully against the stone wall near where Hermione stood. Hermione knelt down, but once again was ghostlike in presence and couldn't help either of them.

"Well, I've no reason to keep you here in my sight. Lucius, escort them back to their cell."

McLellan stood carefully, rubbing her elbow where it had hit the hard floor. She extended a small hand downwards toward Harry and, once he'd grabbed it, helped him up. The two of them shakily walked over to the door, McLellan shooting Malfoy a dirty look. Lucius closed the door behind him, and Hermione only caught a fading glance of Harry and Professor McLellan hobbling down the green-lit stone corridor.

"I know you can see all of this," Voldemort said suddenly into the darkened chamber, and Hermione gasped. "I don't know where you are, or how, but I know you've seen. Most likely, this is the work of that Muggle-loving moron Dumbledore. No matter, you won't escape me, regardless of what you've seen. In fact, if you don't want to endanger Hogwarts, you'll come yourself. If you haven't come by the end of February, I will simply have the castle attacked again, but this time, there won't be any mistakes, and I will have you." Hermione couldn't see his face, but she knew he was sneering.

"Oh," Voldemort muttered, as an afterthought, "and don't even try to stop me."

Suddenly, the entire room filled with a bright emerald glare, and with a cry, Hermione fell to her knees and covered her face with her hands, afraid of what was coming next. 

Suddenly, the light faded, and she was being shaken awake by a very concerned Lavender and Parvati. Lavender's light brown hair was in a rather frizzy state, falling in her face and looking matted—something she painstakingly corrected every morning. Parvati's hair was in a long, dark braid down her back, but she'd forgotten to take off her lip gloss, and it was now smeared all over her face. Parvati was staring at her, the white around her dark eyes particularly vivid in the moonlight. "Hermione, you were yelling and it woke us up—it sounded like you were being attacked!…What's going on?"

Hermione shook her head, swallowing hard, and sat up. "I've got to see Dumbledore…"

__ ****

A/N: Bwahahaha! The plot develops itself…I don't mean to make Lavender and Parvati seem like such complete ditzes, really, they just come out that way. They're nice people, though, I'm sure…Okay, well, I hope that was a sufficient chapter. I shall refrain from begging for reviews this time. I'm tired of it, and by now, I figure I'm mostly writing for myself, and for my amusement. The reviews are just an added bonus. Okay, I'm really rambling. I've got to shut up now. (I'm in a rambly mood—I just got back from seeing Moulin Rouge, which was simply fantastic, and Ewan McGregor is…well, I'm going to quit before I thoroughly embarrass myself. Heh, I'm doing it again…Right. I really am going to shut up, now.)


	15. So, Now What?

****

Disclaimer: Fi's mine. The little mention of stormwings is credited to Tamora Pierce. That's about it. Everything else is J.K.'s (though when she'll ever actually get 'round to _using_ them again…)

****

A/N: Mmmkay, sorry this took so long, and I'm sorry I've been so lazy about writing. I'm not going to force you to read my Long List of Excuses. Aurgh.

At any rate, here 'tis, hope you like it. I believe, in the last chapter, trouble was brewing and everybody's favorite toeless rat had returned to Voldemort. And then Hermione had a nightmare. *ominous music*

Here we go.

****

Lost 

Part 15

__

By Veralidaine

*
__

Of all the things I've believed in

I just want to get it over with

Tears form behind my eyes

But I do not cry

Counting the days that pass me by

I've been searching deep down in my soul

Words I am hearing are starting to get old

Feels like I'm starting all over again

The last three years were just pretend

And I said

Goodbye to you

Goodbye to everything that I knew

You were the one I loved

The one thing that I tried to hold on to

I used to get lost in your eyes

And it seems that I can't live a day without you

Closing my eyes and you chase the thoughts away

To a place where I am blinded by the light

But it's not right

Goodbye to you

Goodbye to everything that I knew

You were the one I loved

The one thing that I tried to hold on to

And when the stars fall I will lie awake

You're my shooting star

- _Goodbye To You_, by Michelle Branch, from _The Spirit Room_ (My latest obsession album)

__

She didn't go to Dumbledore.

In the not-too-distant future, Hermione would torture herself over _why _she'd suddenly become so stupid as to ignore anything logical she'd ever said to Harry in the past. Actually, she later reasoned with herself, she was _acting _more like Harry, really. She'd always sort of wondered why he just blindly tried to solve his problems; thoughtlessly leapt to action without a plan or, in fact, any idea of what he was going to do. Just knowing that it was the right thing. And Hermione was usually the one who explained to him, patiently, that he needed to consult Dumbledore first. That he needed to think things through. But Hermione wasn't calm enough to tell herself these things. She was in the spotlight now, and there was nobody on the sidelines to help her. And she was beginning to see from Harry's point of view.

Well, technically, there were people that could help her. But not without consequences. She'd mentally ticked off a list in her head by the next morning (she'd stayed awake on the squashy red couch in the Gryffindor common room) of possible people she could tell. Dumbledore would restrict her from leaving the castle, and nothing would be done, and Hogwarts would be attacked. Ron, though she loved him dearly and wanted to tell him the truth, would become immensely overprotective and tell Dumbledore, and then Dumbledore would do the same as if she'd told him herself. Professor McGonagall had also been on the list, but she was also very loyal to Dumbledore, and being the deputy headmistress, she'd absolutely inform the headmaster of anything so worrisome as Hermione's predicament, student-teacher trust or no. Hermione had even considered Professor Lupin, but then, he'd probably feel obligated to tell the headmaster as well. Really, anyone she told would then tell Dumbledore. So that only really left her with one choice: She'd keep quiet, and go to Voldemort.

It was incredibly stupid, and she _knew _it was incredibly stupid. But she had to do it, or Hogwarts would be attacked. She didn't know how they'd gotten into the castle the first time, but her educated guess was that when the lights had all flickered and none of the teachers could light their wands, the magical barrier had somehow been broken— entangling the magical bounds around the school, therefore impeding the teachers' ability to relight the lamps for that fraction of a minute--and Apparation was possible. She had no idea how they managed that, though. It would require immensely powerful magic to do such a thing. But then, this was Voldemort. Anything was possible, really. And Dumbledore, who had always seemed to be the most powerful, awe-inspiring wizard in Harry, Ron, and Hermione's minds, wasn't all-powerful, and he was getting quite old, and really, nothing was as it had seemed when they were eleven.

Hermione sighed, staring with glassy eyes at the fireplace, and its dying embers. With all the clamor of a passing shadow, a house-elf seemed to materialize from nowhere next to the couch and Hermione blinked, turning her head to stare at it rather wonderingly. She'd never really seen one around Hogwarts, not counting the times in the kitchen. 

The elf nervously eyed her, small hands behind its back, ears drooping in unease. "'Tis embarrassing, Miss, but Binks is needing to start the fire. Binks is meaning no disrespect to Miss, of course…Normally Binks is alone this early in the morning. Binks is sorry for bothering Miss."

"No, no, it's alright," Hermione said kindly, and realized that, not only was this a shy, nervous house-elf, but in deep thought she'd probably been glaring quite fiercely. Hermione knew all too well (as Ron had been so glad to inform her) that her glaring was rather intimidating to _humans_, let alone a smaller, more timid being. She smiled quickly at the house-elf, not wanting to seem as distant as she felt. She still firmly believed that they should be paid and respected as members of the magical community, but whenever she brought up such ideas, it alarmed the poor things to the point of running away. If, for nothing else, to keep Ron from laughing, she'd stopped mentioning S.P.E.W. to the elves, but she continued to send an occasional owl to the Department of Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures about it all. She shook her head. "Go on and light the fire; don't be embarrassed. _I'm_ bothering _you_, for heaven's sake."

"Oh, no," the elf said quickly, round eyes even wider. "Binks is not bothered by Miss. Miss is a very kind, very good human."

Hermione grinned at the flattery, and the elf--Binks--took a chance and grinned tentatively back. This particular elf was moss-green and had the same huge tennis-ball eyes that Dobby had, but a nose that was small and round. Judging from the high-pitched squeaking of its voice, Binks was female. Hermione watched the elf work at stirring the ashes up, and once again wanted to bombard the ministry with owls concerning wands for elves. It was stupid, making them do such things the Muggle way. "Binks, d'you want some help?"

Binks shook her head wildly, long ears flapping, and looked at Hermione warily. "No, Miss is very kind…But…'Tis Binks' job, not Miss'."

Hermione took that as her cue to shut up and stop bothering the elf, but it seemed uncouth, watching somebody else clean up after her while she sat lazily on a sofa. It was awkward to do nothing, but it was awkward to try and help, too. So Hermione went back to the more pressing matters on her mind. She wouldn't tell anyone about Voldemort and her dream. Nobody would know about it and she'd go find Harry. Yes, she reasoned, she could do that. And she could plan it out ahead of time.

It was as she was doing this "planning" that it occurred to her just why Harry never had a real plan. Voldemort was far from predictable. Yes, she could sneak up into the boys' dormitory and take Harry's cloak and broomstick, but then what? Where did Voldemort live? What if it couldn't be reached by broomstick? What if they detected her before she got to Harry? Would she have to fight her way in? If that was the case, she wasn't sure she could handle this… And what if--_No, you're not even going to _go _there, _she thought harshly. _Harry's not already dead. You saw that. Just last night. Voldemort wants you to come to him, so he won't kill Harry._

But what about Bill Weasley? Professor McLellan? the awful little voice in her mind asked. She chose to ignore it.

It was at that moment that Binks finished her chore of starting the fire and tidying the common room (several third years, despite Hermione's efforts to stop them, had created a terrific mess the night before when battling good-naturedly with Jelly Slugs). Hermione expected the elf to merely disintegrate into the shadows, as they were said to do (Hermione didn't have much experience with elves), but Binks took a very cautious step towards her and raised huge green eyes to her face. "Miss?" muttered the meek voice.

Hermione snapped out of her thoughts for the second time. "Yes?" she said abruptly, making the elf jump back a bit. "Sorry…"

Binks shook her head, ears flapping again. "No, 'tis awright with Binks, Miss…" The elf paused, looking down at curly-toed shoes, tea towel drooping. "Miss, Binks is having a question."

"What's that?" Hermione said kindly, trying to give Binks a reassuring look, but the elf was still looking at her shoes.

"Does Miss know where Professor went?"

"'Professor'?" Hermione echoed blankly. "Which--oh, you mean McLellan?" Binks looked confused, so Hermione tried again. "Er…She teaches Potions?" No response. "In..eh…the dungeons?" Hermione raised her eyebrows. "Er…Long dark hair?"

Binks brightened considerably. "Yes! That is Professor!" she exclaimed, nodding her head excitedly, ears flapping up and down this time. Hermione wanted to giggle--Binks had obviously heard somebody refer to McLellan as Professor and had assumed it was her name. She felt that it would hurt the elf's feelings, though, if she giggled, so she stifled it. The elf looked so encouraged by Hermione's smile, that she actually offered a rather goofy grin as well. "Does Miss know where Professor went? Professor used to come visit Binks and the other house-elfs. Professor has not come to visit much." She looked imploringly at Hermione, twisting one toe nervously into the thick scarlet and gold carpet.

Hermione didn't quite know how to put this. "Er…Binks, Professor McLellan got…Well…She got kidnapped." Well, that was mild. She got picked up around the middle and stunned by a vicious Death Eater while the man who attempted rescuing her got several nasty wounds, and really, nobody was even sure if she was still alive.

The round eyes got even wider. "What bad wizard has taked her?"

Hermione wanted so badly to say, "taken, not _taked_," but she didn't feel it was appropriate or polite at this point to correct the poor thing's grammar. "Erm…The…Dark Lord."

It couldn't be possible, Hermione thought--the eyes got _wider_. Hermione wondered what would happen if she dropped anymore of these surprises around the elf--would those huge green eyes just bounce right out of that tiny skull? "Binks is angry…Binks isn't liking this at'all…Other house-elfs aren't being happy, too."

It was an interesting experience, sitting on the sofa and watching what looked like, if you squinted, a small, ugly doll pacing in front of the fireplace. Hermione grimaced. "I'm sorry. We tried to help her. She got taken when they had all of that trouble in the Great Hall a few weeks ago. At the Christmas Ball."

Binks put her tiny hands on her practically nonexistent hips. "No one is talking to house-elfs anymore." She shook her head, ears flapping again. Hermione would have laughed at this, but obviously the elf was upset. 

"Well, aren't I talking to you now?"

"Yes, Miss is talking. In English-speak." Binks waved a small hand at Hermione, who was amused at the casual gesture that had seemed, not five minutes ago, completely unheard of. "No, no, no…House-elfs are not being very good English-speaks. Professor speaked Elf-speak."

"That's impossible, though," Hermione said softly, not really wanting to argue, but unable to resist. "Elfish--or, Elf-speak, rather--is made entirely of noises that only elves can make. It's…It's to do with your lung size." Hermione chewed her thumbnail thoughtfully. "You mean she could understand it? Because I know that's possible, but she couldn't speak it…"

"No, Professor speaked it. Professor has good…good…" Binks cast around for the word, and then brightened as she remembered it. "…good _accent_, too."

Hermione frowned in thought. It wasn't possible for any old _human_ to go speaking Elfish. You just couldn't _do_ it--it was physically impossible. Unless…Well, it was possible, but really, _really_ unlikely. She'd have to have a different kind of magic in her blood. She'd have to be part faerie, or part…something. Hermione's brow furrowed in frustration. Of course, if she'd not been slacking off on her homework, she'd probably know…She'd have to ask Professor Lupin. He was Defense professor, after all.

Footsteps sounded on the boys' staircase and Binks' eyes did, in fact, grow wider. "Binks is leaving now, Miss! Binks is very happy to have meeted Miss!"

"I'll--I'll come visit you!" Hermione called, as the creature simply disappeared behind the sofa and was, somehow, gone. Hermione was going to go check for a trap door when Seamus Finnigan appeared in the entrance to the boys' staircase, blinking sleepily and with tousled hair, but dressed for classes. Hermione raised an eyebrow, eyeing the clock on the mantle above the fireplace (lit flickeringly by, courtesy of Binks, a cheerfully roaring fire), which read _No classes today--why are you awake?_ "Er…Seamus? It's a bit early, isn't it?"

Seamus seemingly just noticed her. "Oh. 'Lo Hermione." He yawned. "You're up early, aren't you? What's up?"

She was inwardly amazed that he'd even talk to her, as he'd been one of the first to hear the rumor that she was a dangerous relative of Voldemort. But he seemed nonchalant about it all, for whatever reason. She smiled at him tiredly. "I asked you first."

He shrugged. "Detention."

Hermione sat up, somewhat astounded. "You've got _detention?_"

"Well, yes," he said slowly, eyebrows raised. "'S not the first time."

"What did you do?" Hermione asked, amazed. It occurred to her that she'd never stopped to consider other students getting detentions. She was too busy looking after Ron and Harry--_Oh, don't bring up Harry…_ She shook her head. It had always been Snape picking deliberately on Harry and Ron. And Hermione herself. She'd never stopped to think about the other students. It seemed, she thought, rather self-centered of her, really.

Seamus shrugged again, grinning sheepishly. "You were in the class. Happened yesterday, in Transfiguration."

"Oh." Hermione tried to remember. She'd been rather moody and glazed-over, really. She'd turned her handkerchief into a dove and stared glassily at the tabletop, and hadn't paid the slightest mind to anything else around her. All that mattered at the moment was that Ron would be there after Transfiguration. Well, that and there had been a nasty stain on the tabletop that was really needing a good scouring charm… Hermione grinned apologetically. "Sorry, I…I rather forgot what happened."

"Yeah, we figured from the sort of blank way you were staring at your quill that your mind wasn't in the room at the time." Seamus grinned, but sobered quickly. "Nah, I shouldn't tease you." He sighed. "I just had a go at turning Terry Boot into a grease spot on the floor of the classroom." He gave her another cheeky, freckled grin.

Hermione, reclining easily against the squashy cushions behind her, eyed him disapprovingly. "Why on earth would you do that?"

Seamus grinned, somewhere between pride and shame. "Er…He was putting the moves on Lavender."

Hermione snorted. "Oh, for heaven's sake!" She shook her head. "Lavender _loves _that sort of thing. If you're going to date Lavender, you're going to have that problem."

He shrugged. "It's the fighting Irish in me."

"And that would be, what, _all _of you?"

He answered with a thoughtful smirk, "Yep, pretty much."

Hermione snorted again. "Men. Honestly." She turned her head to watch the fire. The awful thoughts were threatening to take over again, so she turned back to Seamus, who was gathering his books, which he'd left on the corner table the evening previous, into his bookbag. "So who's your detention with?"

He smiled, cramming an ink bottle and quill into his bag. "Well, McGonagall wasn't about to get her bony arse up this early in the morning, so she stuck me with Lupin."

Vaguely, Hermione felt she ought to reprimand him for insulting McGonagall, but she restrained herself. "I pity the man."

"Yeah," Seamus said absently, yawning. "So do I."

It then occurred to Hermione that she needed to talk to Lupin, preferably before Ron woke up and attached to her. She'd missed him terribly, of course, and felt guilty keeping such a huge secret from him, but if she brought him along when she went to talk to Lupin, it would lead to questions she didn't want to answer, for his and all of Hogwarts' own good. She sat up straight on the sofa, brushing her hair out of her face and as flat as was possible. "Erm…Seamus? Can I walk with you? I want to talk to Professor Lupin."

He threw his bag over his shoulder and grinned. "If I didn't know any better, I'd think you were flirting."

"_I--am--not_!" Hermione said indignantly, worried that he was serious. She quickly regained her relative calm, however, when he laughed.

"Ah, I'm kidding." He shrugged. "But the question remains: if you're not flirting with me, then are you planning on moving in on Professor Lupin?"

"I'm not even going to dignify that with an answer," Hermione said sniffily. She was almost worried about not completing her mission before Ron woke up, but then she remembered that he slept until noon every opportunity he got. Saturdays especially.

Seamus chuckled. "Fine. Come with me if you like; dun see why you'd want to, but fine."

***

Ron rolled over in bed, face in his pillow. He was so tired lately. After all the healing charms put on him at St. Mungo's, all he wanted to do was sleep. He thought vaguely of getting up, and decided to give it a try. _Okay, get up._

No.

Why? __

'S too early.

He gave pause to think about this. _Yes, it is, but I still ought to stop being such a lazyass. _Ron actually did try to make himself get up, but his body just wouldn't cooperate, so he let himself just slip back into happy sleep. _Besides, _he thought, _it's Saturday. Hermione probably won't even be awake yet. She's not got something to study for._

Oh, and that's stopped her before, how?

Shut up. Ten more minutes; that's all I ask.

Well, it would have been ten minutes, but as is common when one thinks to oneself, _I'll just have a lie-down for ten minutes or so_, sleep overcomes the senses, and in reality, ten minutes can stretch to a nice, three-hour nap.

***

Harry's stomach hurt. He felt like he was going to be sick. Most unfortunately, he'd felt like this since the previous evening (well, he'd assumed it was evening, but there were no windows in Voldemort's castle), when he'd once again survived the Avada Kedavra curse. Since then, he'd constantly felt as though the wind had been knocked out of him and the reaction prolonged--his breath was short and he felt like he couldn't quite get the air into his lungs that he needed. So he'd been rather quiet.

McLellan had, too, even though she still possessed the ability to speak. She just sort of stared off into space, frowning deeply. When she wasn't doing that, she was glancing anxiously at him to make sure he was still breathing. Apparently, she was just as surprised as he was that he was still alive. She'd wrapped an arm around him and helped him out of Voldemort's chamber and down the hall, shooting poisonous looks at Lucius Malfoy the whole while. Harry was in a bit too much discomfort to take in the conversation the two adults had had on the short walk to their cell, but he assumed that it hadn't been friendly. 

McLellan looked up again at him from across the dark cell, eyes reflecting the pinprick of green light coming from a crack in the bricks across the room. "Are you feeling any better a'tall?"

Harry swallowed hard, willing his stomach to calm itself. "Not…really," he managed to wheeze.

McLellan sighed and leaned her head back against the stone wall behind her. "I'm sorry, Harry. I wish I had my wand so I could try to help." She stretched out a foot in front of her and looked at it intently, her other knee hugged to her chest. "I've no idea what it feels like to survive the killing curse, but I can't imagine it's just a pleasant tickle."

Harry nodded, but stayed quiet, hoping that refraining from using his vocal chords might help his chest feel less deflated. He was going to die here, in this cell. He knew it. He'd cheated death way too many times—with the Philosipher's Stone and Quirrel when he was eleven, the Chamber of Secrets the year after, Dementors, Death Eaters, and first and foremost, Avada Kedavra… He may have survived all of these horrible obstacles, but the way he was feeling right about now, he didn't think he'd ever see the outside of his cell again. Not only was his chest deflated, but so was any and all hope of escape. Nobody knew where he was. They probably thought him dead. Voldemort would try to get Hermione to come and rescue him, and Harry didn't know if Hermione could handle it herself…And if Hermione came, Ron would follow…At first, Harry had done nothing but worry for his friends, and what Voldemort might do to them. He had tried so hard to think of a plan, _any _plan, that might save the day. But Hermione had plans. Ron could strategize. And Harry was the hero.

__

Oh, and what _a hero,_ he thought bitterly, breathing slowly in so as to keep the constricted feeling in his lungs from becoming unbearable. _Sitting here, having all but given up… Dumbledore has to be disappointed. And Sirius. And Ron and Hermione. And probably the entire Wizarding world. _He started blinking stubbornly behind his glasses. _Great. And now I'm crying, too. _

And then he was angry. He didn't _want _to be the Boy Who Lived. He wanted to be Harry Potter, another kid at school. He wondered what it would be like to have his flying abilities appreciated for what they were, and not because he was Harry Potter. And to have a normal, un-publicized life—what about his love life? Whose business was it, who he dated and who he didn't? And what about his parents? Ah, now he'd done it—if he hadn't thought of them, then maybe he could have held it together. There were so many articles through the years about his parents, articles that made them seem just like words on paper. Another two names in a magazine. Another old photograph that could be anyone's parents, but made special because they were _Harry Potter's _parents. And then everyone tried to pretend that they could understand, and they never could.

__

I'm at the mercy of the monster that killed my parents. And I think this is going to be the last time.

He knew he was being rather morbid, but he was very sure he would never see Hogwarts, or anything else outside of Voldemort's castle, again. He hugged his knees to his chest, resting his chin on top of them, making the chains binding his wrist and ankles _clink _noisily. Professor McLellan turned her head slightly to see what had made the noise—she seemed quite jumpy, but Harry knew that Voldemort wouldn't send for them for a long while yet. It occurred to Harry how much he'd never been told. About Voldemort, about the Wizarding world, about his own life…About his parents…

His throat worked as he tried to get words to come out. "Professor McLellan?" he croaked, glad that at least some noise had managed to escape his throat.

The professor turned immediately. "Yes, Harry?" She sounded as if she knew what was coming.

Harry sighed and managed, "Can you tell me about—" He took another deep breath and ignored the crushing sensation in his chest, brought about by more than physical pain. He swallowed harshly. "—about my parents?"

***

It was after following Seamus down numerous hallways, up three flights of stairs (one of which wasn't too thrilled at being used so early in the morning and told them so on no uncertain terms), and through a fireplace that Hermione found herself in the teachers' wing. While Harry and Ron were still thoroughly convinced, even though they were seventeen and not ridiculous little first years anymore, that Snape lived in the dungeons with the potions ingredients, his room was actually in the teachers' wing ("Well, yeah," Ron had once said to that argument. "But does he _use _it? I was always under the impression that he hung from the rafters by his toes…") with the other teachers' rooms. Hermione passed the oak door labeled _Severus Snape_, with its Slytherin banner, and grimaced to herself, feeling guiltily glad he wasn't teaching for this year. There was also a twinge of worry for him, but she tried to ignore it, making her feel further guilt. 

They passed _Minerva McGonagall_, with the Gryffindor Banner pinned up next to the name, of course, and then _Sofia Sprout_ (with the Hufflepuff Banner), the empty _Sibyll Trelawney_ (who, Hermione for once agreed with the boys, probably _did_ hang from the rafters by her toes—she lived in her own personal bat cave, after all), and the also empty _Fiona McLellan_. Something occurred to Hermione and she turned to Seamus. "Aren't we…supposed to go to his office, not his room?"

"Not for morning detentions," Seamus said knowledgeably. "You go teh them. They're not leaving their teapots until they're sure you've remembered to get up early--they don't want to sit 'round in their drafty offices waiting for you to show." She was about to say something regarding his lack of respect towards teachers, but he held up a hand. "You'll want to keep your voice down. Professor Sprout's not very nice if you wake her up."

"Oh, you do this often, do you?" whispered Hermione.

"One other time." He grimaced, finally coming to the door labeled _Remus Lupin_ and knocking softly. "Malfoy's fault. Threw a toad spleen into my cauldron and it blew up. Remember?" Hermione nodded. "And then I had to come for morning detention with Snape, right, and as if that's not bad enough, and I accidentally woke Sprout while knocking on Snape's door…She was scary."

Hermione pursed her lips, though the image of Professor Sprout with her wild hair in rollers and a sleepy scowl on her face did make her smile somewhat. Even though nobody in the magical world used hair rollers.

The door opened and a very awake Lupin appeared, leaning braced on the doorframe by one hand, a cup of tea in the other. He raised his eyebrows. "'Morning, Seamus."

"Same to you, Professor."

He glanced at Hermione. "I wasn't aware you were also serving a morning detention with me, Hermione."

"Oh, I'm not…" She tried to think of an excuse. Lupin was still looking at her, eyebrows raised expectantly. "I had some questions. About class." 

He looked amused. "Hm." Returning his attention to Seamus, he consulted a watch on his thin wrist. "Well, Seamus, I'm afraid you'll be cleaning out the Grindylow tank and filling it with fresh pondweed and water." The professor smiled apologetically as he handed his student a bucket for weed collection and a sponge. Seamus cringed, and Lupin shrugged. "I know, it's a miserable job, but there are strict rules concerning fighting at Hogwarts. Always have been." Lupin cleared his throat, and Hermione thought she saw him stifle a small, reminiscent smile. "Just take the tank out by the lake. It'll be an easier job that way."

"Gee, thanks," Seamus intoned and, giving Hermione a tired smile, he trudged off resignedly towards Lupin's office for the tank. 

Lupin turned his attention to Hermione again. "So, you have some questions?"

"Yesss…" Hermione said slowly, wondering how to broach this particular subject. "I've heard of witches and wizards who talk to magical creatures." She noticed that he looked a bit closed off at this point, but she pressed on quickly, before he could make up an excuse to get away: "I was talking to one of the house-elves, and she said that Professor McLellan could speak Elfish, which I thought was a bit odd, considering that it's a language that only elves can speak, so I was wondering if, since you knew her, you could help me figure out where she gets her magic blood." She ran out of air at that last sentence and paused to breathe in deeply, and Lupin almost smiled. Hermione started and remembered her manners: "Please." She looked at him imploringly, nervously twisting her fingers.

The professor considered her for a moment, brow furrowed. "Well…I—" He stopped and sighed, and then lowered his voice. "I'm not supposed to discuss it, for much the same reason that people weren't supposed to discuss my…erm…_predicament_ back when I first taught here." 

The door down the hall opened and Professor Sprout, with her wild hair in rollers, oddly enough, stuck her head out. "Remus, for the love of Merlin, it's six-thirty on Saturday morning! Can you keep it down just a bit, please?"

"Absolutely, Sofia, I'm terribly sorry," Lupin replied courteously as Sprout, not at all her cheerful self, grumbled and closed her door. He turned back to Hermione. "We can discuss this in my office. We won't bother anyone there."

"Right," Hermione agreed, and followed him down the twisting corridors, up toward the owlery, and but stopping short at the office nearest the Defense classroom. He opened the door and flicked his wand at the lights, which lit themselves as he sat down in the chair behind his desk. A quick dash of his wand toward the fireplace started a cheerful, if smallish, fire, which cast warm shadows over the office's contents and occupants. He summoned another chair from the far corner for Hermione and she sat down, noticing the large empty space where the Grindylow tank was supposed to be. 

Lupin sighed tiredly and leaned his elbows on the desk, crossing his arms and looking somewhat tired and hunched. _Well, it _is_ six-thirty on Saturday morning. _He opened his mouth, changed his mind, and started again. "Professor McLellan is a fae-speak. I assume you know what that means?"

"She can talk to magical creatures," Hermione replied automatically. "Yes, I know, but how?"

"I'm getting there," he said, smiling slightly. "Be patient."

"Sorry."

"Right." He paused again. "What do you know about Selkes?" 

"Er…" Hermione dredged up the article from _Fantastic Beasts _in her mind. "Seal people…They're like mermaids. Love of music and such." She decided to leave out the less-beautiful-than-they-are-in-paintings part. She harbored a suspicion that Lupin would take offense. "They have to marry the person who steals their skin."

"Yes…They shed their skins to become human. Most often women." He waved an impatient hand. "But that's not the point I'm getting at. Selkes breed with humans occasionally. Professor McLellan's grandmother mysteriously disappeared, leaving her children and husband behind. Her grandfather always told the family that she'd died, but she'd just gone back to the sea. She found her sealskin and left."

"So…McLellan's a third-generation selke?" Hermione asked, eyebrows raised.

Lupin nodded. "And that comes with the possible ability of fae-speak. She got it. And the other possibility of transformation without the shedding of skin. She got that, too."

"Huh." Hermione thought for a moment, looked at the expression on her professor's face, grinned apologetically and said, "I'm afraid I have some more questions."

He sighed resignedly. "I'd guessed so much."

Hermione folded her hands in her lap and sighed as well. "Why is it so dangerous? Why keep it a secret?"

"Same reason she was kidnapped," Lupin replied, running a hand through his hair and causing it to stand up vividly, sort of like Harry's. Hermione squashed that thought down. Whenever Harry was brought up, she was reminded of what she needed to do. "Being able to talk to faeries is very handy in war. If you've got a fae-speaker on your side, you can have them defeat a small army while you're having tea. Faeries are easily persuaded to wreak havoc on people." He shrugged. "World domination's a little different, but they're still very useful. So that's what Voldemort's after with her." He scowled. "It's not the first time he's tried this sort of thing."

"But I thought faeries were…er…stupid?" Hermione said haltingly, knowing better than to ask about that last comment from the professor. He'd just go odd and mysterious, like adults seemed to do all too often at Hogwarts.

"Depends on the kind of faerie." Lupin's eyebrows raised. "Fire pixies aren't stupid at all. They're rather dangerously clever, actually. Evil little things." He shook his head. "Newt Scamander could only observe faeries. He wasn't able to communicate with them. It makes a difference if you can, obviously."

"Ah." Hermione sighed. "Well, that explains a lot."

"Really?" Lupin said mildly. "Like what?"

"I _knew _it!" A voice said triumphantly from the doorway to the right. Both Hermione and Lupin turned to see Seamus standing, Grindylow tank held carefully in front of him (the Grindylow inside was not looking too thrilled with being carried about the grounds), in the doorframe. "I knew she was one o' them!"

"Beg pardon?" Lupin said, eyebrows raised.

"McLellan! A selke!"

Lupin caught Hermione's eye, looking resigned. Hermione smiled apologetically. Seamus, meanwhile, was carefully putting the tank away, looking quite pleased with himself, despite the wet spots on his clothes from his chore. He dusted off his hands, crossed his arms, and grinned at them both. "I knew it. But I won't tell anyone, if you don't want me to."

"That would be preferable," Lupin muttered, not looking up and running his fingers over a series of old grooves in the wood of his desk thoughtfully. 

Hermione had gone quiet, barely hearing Seamus' continuing prattle on Irish folklore. So, McLellan was a selke. Well. Another fact for her mental files. She watched as Seamus, looking very smug, promised one last time that he _really _wouldn't tell (most likely for fear of some mythological Revenge of the Celtic Fish-Women), and left, closing the door behind him. After a moment – 

"Hermione?" 
Hermione snapped back to attention and glanced in surprise at her professor, eyebrows raised. "Yessir?"
Lupin's gaze was very steady, and his tone conveyed more than his words. "I'd appreciate it if you, and Seamus, would keep that…erm…_quiet_. I don't think she'd like it very much if everybody knew." He picked up a heap of parchment that looked to be first year essays and grouped them neatly before piling them on the desk in an orderly stack He said nothing else. And what really bothered her was he was speaking as if McLellan were merely downstairs in the potions classroom, and not God-only-knew-where. He was a little too calm, considering his demeanor throughout the past few weeks.
"Of course," Hermione muttered, brow furrowed. Damn Seamus for interrupting. She wasn't done interrogating yet, but she really needed to move on before Lupin started questioning her reasons for such inquiries. Her vexation must have shown on her face, for Lupin asked, "Is there anything else?"
She turned to smile and say, "No, thank you, I really ought to go," but her eyes fell instead to the marks on his desk that he had partially covered with the stack of essays. She managed to catch the word _Padfoot_ before Lupin saw what she was looking at and laughed quietly. Not waiting for her to ask, he removed the stack of parchment to reveal a rather mutilated desk corner. Hermione stood up and moved around to where Lupin was sitting to get a better look.
__Prongs was written in the corner, followed by 
__    Padfoot
Wormtail
    Moony
"Professor McGonagall seemed to believe it was fitting that I should get stuck with the damaged desk, after all these years," Lupin explained quietly, after a moment. "That's what happens when you and your friends terrorize your professors with such nonsense as perma-quills, only to make the silly decision to return and teach at the same school."
Hermione smiled quietly, but continued looking at the unfamiliar handwriting. The word "Prongs" was written in a hand much like Harry's, and she almost asked why Professor Lupin hadn't shown this to Harry himself when it occurred to her that it would have been quite hurtful to him, seeing his father's name next to Wormtail's, written probably when they were all about Harry's age. She looked up at Lupin, who was quietly remembering, and suddenly she wanted desperately to say everything that was on her mind – all that was wrong, all that was _going_ to be wrong… She wanted to ask what he thought she should do, and what spells she might need. But her common sense, working against her, told her that he would only stop her from going. And she couldn't let him do that, stupid idea or not. This was Harry. Her best friend. And it was her burden, at this point. She wouldn't let innocents be killed; let her deal with Voldemort.
Still, though, Professor Lupin possessed that quality of "Please, do tell me all that is on your mind; you can trust me" that made any desperately frightened and troubled person wont to spilling out exactly what it was that bothered them. Hermione was in the middle of a rather fierce battle between the conflicting ideas of following logic or her heart when the flames in the modest fireplace suddenly flared brightly and Sirius' head appeared amidst the tongues of flame. "'Lo, Remus," he said tiredly, and Hermione, startled, realized that he looked almost as bad as he had when she'd first met him. Well, he was cleaner now, but the shadows on his face were very angular and evident, as was the sort of haunted, hollow look in his eyes. Sirius had visited Ron in the hospital the same day Hermione had, to offer half-hearted encouragement to his godson's best friends. The man had looked unwell at the time but, from what Hermione could see of him (mind, that was just his head), he had gotten far worse.
"Sirius," Remus muttered, eyebrows lifted in mild surprise. "Bit early, isn't it?"
    Sirius' head looked confused. Then, it shook, as if to clear it. "I suppose it is. Huh. Why are you up, if it's so early?"
"I'm not the one who sleeps until three o'clock in the afternoon, Padfoot."
    "Point taken." Sirius smiled very briefly, and then he noticed Hermione. "Oh. Hello, Hermione, I didn't see you. Why are _you_ awake?" He shook his head. "Never mind," he said quickly, responding to his own question, "you have similar mindsets."
Lupin tapped his fingers absently on the desk, brow furrowed slightly, one elbow resting against the back of his chair. "Is something wrong, Sirius?"
    The other man shook his head. "No, no, I was just wondering… Any new information?"
Again, Hermione was extremely tempted to say _something. _Anything. Sirius looked so desperate, and so saddened when Lupin told him that nothing had been found as of yet, that she felt that anything at all would have been helpful. Even something bad – so long as it was news, and the agony of waiting, waiting, _waiting_ could end. But years of training herself to stick to her logic to the end kept her from speaking. Not only would they have stopped her going, but they would have interrogated her for every detail possible, and probably would go and get themselves killed trying to rescue Harry. _Mind, that's probably what I'm going to end up doing,_ Hermione thought. _I'm so useless…I should say something; they're more competent wizards than I am – _
    NO!
She couldn't. She kept her mouth closed, not really hearing anything that was said as she watched the two adults conversing tersely. It occurred to her that now that she had the information she really needed, it would do to get back to Gryffindor tower and wake Ron up. If she was going to really do this thing, in all its stupidity, she wanted to be with him for today. A sick feeling was rising in her stomach. It still hadn't quite registered in her mind what she was considering doing. She could tell, from the way her heart was beating at an increasingly upset rate that the reality of her situation was sinking in, but she didn't want to have to deal with it right now. She had to get out of here, or she'd keep thinking.
She stood from her chair and both other heads turned her way. Lupin stood as well. "Oh, I'm sorry, Hermione, I'll let you go now, if there's nothing else…?"
    "No," she said quickly. "No, nothing else. Thank you." She stood silently, hands clasped in front of her, staring at the floor.
Sirius was looking at her curiously from the fireplace. "Bye, Hermione," he said, a strange look on his face.
    She smiled vaguely. "Yes. Goodbye, Sirius. I'll... I'll see you later." She stepped outside the door, mind whirling with more thoughts than usual (which said a lot, really), when she heard Sirius' voice filter through the closed wooden door of the room she'd just left:
"She's up to something, Moony."
    She halted quickly and stepped back closer to the closed door, keeping as silent as possible. Remus was saying something.
"…can you tell?"
    "She fakes placidity about as well as you do. Got that guilty look, too."
Hermione frowned. She thought she'd gotten better about not looking so suspicious. She had been feeling dreadful, though. The awful feeling was rising in her chest again, but she beat it down and tried to forget her situation to hear what they were saying. _This is spying. Oh, God, I've been spending _far_ too much time with Ron and Harry – _She blanched, and shook her head. _No, no more. Harry's okay. He'll be okay._
    Remus sounded exasperated. "I don't 'fake placidity', Sirius."
"Yes you do. You're doing it now. And it's a buggerall awful job of it, too, I might add."
    It was very quiet. Hermione blinked a few times, and leaned in closer to the door. Were they whispering? Did they know she was out there? Were they planning on opening the door on her to catch her? And then – 
"What do you mean?" Lupin's voice had taken on a tired edge, as if he already knew where this conversation was headed, and really didn't want to go there.
    "Remus, don't avoid the point. You never have; don't start now."
"Shut the _hell_ up, Sirius."
    "Ooh, look, we sound just _like_ each other! Are you going to spend your time mimicking my more violent qualities, or are you going to get this out of your system before you go mad?" Hermione could easily imagine Sirius' face right now. She wasn't quite sure how Remus was reacting, though. "Look, I've heard how you've been acting lately. I've spoken with Dumbledore, and McGonagall, and they're all concerned. _I'm_ concerned. Are you planning on doing something stupid?" Silence positively seeped under the door. Hermione cringed on Lupin's behalf. This was awfully close to her problem – she was just glad Sirius wasn't questioning _her._
"No."
    "Yes, you are," was the abrupt response. The problem with lying to your best friend, Hermione reflected guiltily, was that they knew you too well to be fooled. "You're not going to try to go after them, are you?"
Something slammed into something else very loudly – Hermione suspected it was Lupin's fist connecting with his other hand, or the table, or some other undeserving object. His voice sounded very strained, and livid, but obviously unused to being so. "Dammit, he's got Harry and Fiona. _Both_ of them, Sirius. Not to mention the oldest Weasley boy. You're the one who doesn't seem to be acting normally. Why are you so suddenly rational?"
    "Because," Sirius said, sounding as though he were clenching his fists, "Dumbledore has me under watch for just that reason."
There was a large silence. Hermione blinked and vaguely thought the entire school must have heard it. 
    "He _what?_" Remus asked quietly. 
"Yeah." Sirius sounded resigned. "I'm under watch. He can't hear me or anything, but he monitors where I Apparate to. He's afraid I'm going to get myself killed. Apparently, he still thinks he's my headmaster."
    Remus' voice was somewhat offended. "So, you warranted protection from yourself, but I'm not quite determined enough to attempt to save them?"
A hoarse laugh made Hermione jump. "Moony, you really are ridiculous. You're a _professor_. You were a _prefect_." He snorted. "You get along with bleeding _Snape_—"
"We'll not speak ill of him. He's… He's being extremely helpful to our cause." The professional forced respect was very evident, but Hermione was glad that somebody had brought that up.
"Yeah, yeah, okay." She could see Sirius in her mind's eye, waving this information carelessly aside with one hand. "Right. Point is, though, you always came off as the good one. We'd work up some really good scheme, James and I would take care of the observers—"
"Huh, yeah, if that's how you want to phrase it—"
"—and you'd be the one to set it all off, because _nobody_ _ever suspected you_. And, apparently, they still haven't caught on."
Hermione raised her eyebrows. Remus must have done the same, because Sirius continued: "And that's why I called you."
    A deep sigh followed this statement. "Well, I won't do anything stupid, Sirius, I promise."
Pause. "I think you misheard me, Moony."
    Hermione's brow furrowed, and she leaned in closer to the door. Remus' voice sounded somewhat far away. "Sorry?"
"I think…you misunderstand the point I'm getting at."
    Remus gave a disbelieving laugh suddenly. "Oh, good God."
"Yeah."
    "What the hell are you thinking—"
"Shut up half a moment." It went very quiet. Hermione could feel the professor's glare. "Remus, look, I can't go anywhere; Dumbledore knows I want to and he's got me under serious scrutiny – don't mind the pun –" (there followed a sound of disgust from Remus) " – and you've always been better at the realistic planning aspect of these things." (—"Oh, as opposed to the _unrealistic_ planning aspect of _these things_," Lupin muttered, half-amusedly, half-sarcastically—) "Besides, Dumbledore trusts you, and—"
    "And that's precisely why I can't do it." Lupin's adamant tone bore down on Sirius' voice, and he quieted himself for a moment. "Dumbledore trusts me implicitly, which I value above all things. He gave me a job, twice, when I couldn't find work. He knows who and what I am. He knows _me_, and remains unprejudiced and unafraid." His voice had taken on a very sad tone. "And that is very rare, for me. You know that. I already spent twelve years of my life thinking that everyone who had ever felt that way was gone forever, and now that I'm regaining some of my respect, my friendships, and my trust, I can't just throw it all away."
"Even for Harry? James' son? And _Fiona?_"
    "You think I'm not suffering?" Remus shouted hoarsely. "Do you honestly think I _want_ to sit back and 'let it sort itself out?' Ministry officials are _useless_, and I know it just as well as you do. Stop trying to guilt-trip me." He sighed, and his voice grew quiet. Almost as an afterthought, he added, "As if the dreams weren't enough…"
Hermione's ears perked up. So, apparently, did Sirius'. "Dreams?"
    "Yes, dreams," Remus murmured, sounding somewhat as if he regretted saying anything about it. "I've been having dreams…They're horrible, and they always seem to fade in detail whenever I try to remember them. _Really_ remember them, I mean."
The underlying urgency in Sirius' voice was startling. "Do you have a location, Remus?"
    "Would I be _here_ if I did?" came the irritable response. "No. I try to keep a roll of parchment on my bedside cabinet to write down what I can while it's still fresh in my mind, but it always just…dissolves. I only know it's in a castle, and somewhere cold and dank – there was fog, as I recall. It might even be nearby, for all we know."
"Is Harry…alive?" Sirius sounded extremely strained and reluctant to even be asking the question for fear of what the answer might be. 
    Remus sighed. "I don't know. I didn't dream last night. Two days ago, he was alive, if looking a bit unwell."
"And…Fiona?"
    "I couldn't see her."
"I'm sorry, Remus." There was a slight pause. "You have no idea, not even a vague one, where they are?"
    "No."
"Have you spoken to Dumbledore?"
    "No. Should I?"
"I don't think so," Sirius said slowly. "I think you should come over and pick me up under the guise of going to visit…somebody." His voice sped up, becoming more determined with every word. "Then we can take my motorcycle and travel, what, North? That's a good bet, I think.We're bound to run across some castles. Not exactly easy to miss, are they? I mean, how many castles are there? And you can't cloak stuff from other wizards that easily, so – "
    "_Sirius…_" There was a very long pause, and Hermione wondered whether Sirius was still there, or if he had given up and the conversation was over. She was about to leave before she could get caught, but Remus continued. "You're rambling." His voice was stony. "I don't want to have that argument. Please don't do this to me. I need to be left alone."
"Alright." There was an even longer pause following that bit, but then Sirius cleared his throat. "You were going to do it, weren't you?"
    Pause. "Yeah." Deep sigh. "I can't have this conversation now, though, Sirius. I have a lot to think about."
"Right. Be safe, Moony."
    "And you, Padfoot."
And Hermione left, turning quickly from the door and skittering down the hallway, toward Gryffindor Tower and the beginnings of an idea.
*
****A/N: And it's _not_ a healthy one, either. 
    There's a little thing called reviewing, which would be awesome for you to do. Especially since I haven't posted in awhile, it'd be nice for you to lemme know that you're still out there! Feel free to e-mail, too; I love hearing from you guys!
    Next time: Ron goes through all ranges of emotion and therefore all shades of purple, Lupin hesitates, Lavender gets disturbed from her beauty sleep, and Harry hears some stuff he doesn't really want to.
    Hopefully you'll read all about it by the end of the month!
    ~ Veralidaine
    ("I'm gonna sing the doom song! Doom, doom, doom, doom doom doom, doom doom, doom, doom, doom…The end! Ooh, wha's 'at?!")


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